


Cable Car One-Shots

by Saint11Icarus



Series: Cable Car [2]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 38,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saint11Icarus/pseuds/Saint11Icarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots set in the Cable Car universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CC Chapter 5

**Author's Note:**

> If at any point you really want to see a scene play out that we didn’t get to see in Cable Car (or in the pasts of the characters), leave a comment or shoot me an ask and I’ll work something out. We can have fun with it, it’ll be a good time. It’s a good chance to get out of Beth’s head. Beth isn’t a wildly reliable narrator, and if we view the story only through her we’ll miss a lot of juicy stuff.
> 
> These one-shots will contain spoilers for Cable Car, if you don't want to be spoiled make sure you've finished reading the chapter of Cable Car that matches up with the chapter title of the one-shot you're reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot contains spoilers for chapter 5 of the high school AU, Cable Car. This is your warning. If you don’t want spoilers, go read chapter 5 first then come back here.
> 
> We're blasting to the past, Felix is still in middle school and 14 year-old Sarah has no idea how much her life is about to change.

“Sarah, get your arse in gear, we’re late!” S yelled up the stairs, the veins of her hands prominent against the old wooden railing.

Sarah gruffed and traced a final layer of liner on, smudging at her eyeshadow with the rough pad of her ring-finger. “Maybe if Felix didn’t spend an hour in the fucking bathroom…” she grumbled to her reflection.

“Watch your language before I climb these steps and give you something to curse about!”

She grunted and tossed the pencil she shared with her brother into the sink, messy with chips and smudges of black make up. “Right.”

Sarah took the stairs two at a time to find S and Felix already waiting for her. “Get your shoes on, we still have to drop Felix off on the way. Let’s go!” S had found her way into the kitchen and was cleaning up their cereal bowls, sloshing them around under the faucet until the milky water ran clear.

“I have a test this morning, Sarah.” Felix moaned, shifting his bag on his shoulders.

“Try not to spend so much time staring at yourself in the mirror, then!” Sarah shoved him roughly out of the way so she could grab her boots. She didn’t bother to tie them, she’d do it in the car.

Mrs. S was beside her when she stood from her place on the stairs, backpack outstretched and hanging off her fingers. “Do you even carry anything in this?”

Sarah just grabbed it and reached for the doorknob. She pulled the heavy wooden door open and everyone fell silent, jaws slack, eyes wide. Curled up and shivering on the ground was a filthy blonde mess, ripped shirt, ripped jeans, holes in the soles of her shoes. The girl was pressed to the wall, using a pale hand to cushion her head against a garden gnome she’d commandeered as a make-shift pillow.

“Oi, what’s this then?” S towered behind Sarah, pulling the punk back into the house protectively. “Who are you?” The girl jumped at the Irish-woman’s stern tone, eyes blinking awake, startled. She scurried backwards, crab walking off of the porch and into the grass. “Now, now, Chicken.” S’s voice suddenly softened, one arm keeping Felix and Sarah pushed behind her, the other reaching cautiously towards the broken animal. She barked over her shoulder, “Back in the house with you two,” she shut the door.

“Pardon me,” the girl spoke, her voice hoarse and choked, “I am looking for S-sarah Manning?”

S strained to understand though the blonde’s thick accent. “Sarah? Why don’t you tell me who you are, then we’ll get to Sarah.”

“M-my name is Helena,” it was a whisper, as if a rarely spoken secret.

S nodded, crouching to the ground, “Helena. I’m Mrs. S.”

“Mrs. S?” Slow, unsure of the sounds.

“That’s right.” She reached out, and though she was yards away, Helena flinched at the motion. “Hush now, Chicken, I’m not going to hurt you.” Her blue eyes were scanning Helena’s face with frantic fascination, though her voice remained soothing, her lilting accent a calming lullaby. “You look just like my Sarah. Come out of the woodwork, haven’t you?”

Helena shifted her weight forward, thousands of angry goosebumps barely noticeable against her paper-thin skin.

“That-a girl, come here.” S called to her like a fox with it’s foot caught in a trap, motioning her forward with her outstretched hand. Behind her Sarah and Felix scuffled for position pressing their faces against the breath-fogged glass panes set into the door. Helena moved slowly, inching forward until her cheek bumped S’s hand, “Good, good,” S whispered, she held Helena’s jaw and tilted the girl’s face back and forth, “where’ve you come from, Helena?”

“The Ukraine,” the blonde mumbled through blistered lips, dried blood blending the already unclear boundary between lip-white and skin-white.

“The Ukraine, that’s awfully far away. What brings you to my doorstep?” S lifted her other hand to brush the girl’s filthy hair from her face but stopped at Helena’s widened eyes. She looked just like Sarah had all those years ago, terrified. “You are just the spitting image, aren’t you?”

Helena swallowed and with shaking fingers, pulled S’s cupping palm from her cheek. She found some surety to bolster her voice, “I am looking for Sarah Manning.”

“I’ll bet you are,” S nodded, “but I’m afraid you can’t see her until I suss out what you’re doing sleeping on my stoop.”

Helena seemed to be weighing her options, her blood-brown eyes catching Sarah’s through the glass. “She is my sestra. I came here to find her.” She fumbled to get into the waistband of her pants. Folded as small as she could get it, tucked into her hip, was a piece of paper, “My twin sestra,” trembling hands struggled to unfold the thing, smoothing it against the pebbly concrete. There was a line drawn through an old familiar address, their home in London; next to it was written in blue pen: 148 Scotsburn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

“Where did you get this, Deary?” S took the page and turned it to get a better look. It had detailed information regarding Sarah’s time in the foster system, notes on her adoption, Siobhan’s name, Felix’s name. Sarah’s arrest record. Most of it was in Cyrillic script, but much of it was readable.

Helena was gnawing at her bottom lip, rolling her tongue against it. “The nuns had it.”

“Nuns? You were raised in convent?”

Helena nodded. “Yes.”

S sighed, “You listen close. I’m going to stand up now, nice and slow, and so are you. Do you understand?” Helena blinked silently before nodding. “And then we’re going to go inside and we’re going to have a talk about this.” Another nod.

Mrs. S stood, the worn and wrinkly paper tight between her fingers, she called over her shoulder, loud enough to be heard through the door. “You both get to your rooms, now, start working on the homework that I know you didn’t do last night. Not a peep from either of you until I say.”

And with the thunder of teenage feet barreling up stairs, Siobhan turned and twisted the knob with a strong wrist. Helena stood, twitchy, and S wrapped and arm around her shoulders, hovering in the air above them, opening the door and leading the blonde into the house.

***

Sarah was as silent as the night, she knew every creak and settle of the old house. She knew every bow in the wood floors, knew exactly where to step, exactly where to hold her breath. _She was absolutely silent_ , but Helena’s eyes flashed open when a socked foot touched down on the first floor. She stood stock straight, the pillows and blanket S had given her falling off the couch in a rush.

“Hey, hey, shhh” Sarah held out her hands, “quiet.” She spoke slow, the girl’s english was spotty at best. “Yeah? Quiet.” She put a finger to her lips.

Helena’s brow furrowed and she nodded.

Sarah took a few more steps, body tilted, only half-facing this new stranger. “Helena,” she whispered, coming to sit on the coffee table in front of the table, angled outward towards the stairs.

“Sarah.” The blonde’s tongue fumbled around her name, breaking it down the middle.

They were quiet for several minutes, the only sound their synchronized inhales and exhales, the timed rise and fall of their chests. Sarah couldn’t make eye-contact, and Helena couldn’t seem to stop trying. Finally the punk’s eyes darted up to meet her sister’s when the broken girl reached for her, palm up and low, the tips of her cracked and chewed fingers brushing against Sarah’s knuckles where they curled around the edge of the table.

Sarah didn’t move, just sat and let Helena’s skin graze her own. Even she couldn’t deny the crackle of electricity between them until her hand shifted of it’s own accord; against her will, palm down, fingers stretching against bandages from a recent brawl. Their digits slid against each other, dipping into cupped hands, lingering on life-lines that started in the same spots but broke off in different directions. Soon their palms met, knuckles against heels of hands, fingers splaying over wrists and tendons and bone.

“Sarah.” “Helena.” — with the same uneven breath, as if through the same lungs.

Their eyes met— twin pools of brown tinged with the rust of a thousand battles around the edges, around the pupils, fields full of fallen soldiers stained with blood drying in the open air. Sarah broke their touch, her hand moving up slowly, though Helena made no move to pull back. She touched gingerly at the blonde’s left cheek, a familiar freckle. Helena took her hand to Sarah’s right cheek, cautiously brushing against the same mark.

Both girls shifted, scooting closer to the edges of their perches, better to touch each other. Four hands traced identical features, highlighting unshared scars. Helena under her chin and through her right eyebrow, another heavy across her nose; Sarah in the corner of her eye, splaying out like winged eyeliner, and from the crease of her nostril to just above her lip. The punk’s were thin and light where Helena’s stood raised and dotted with knots.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sarah whispered against Helena’s exploratory fingers, her lips grazing their pads, rough ridges of fingerprints starkly noticeable in the quiet around them.

“I could not also,” Helena blinked slowly, her tone lifting at the end— filled with an airy wonder.

“So weird.” Sarah’s voice was laced with awe, her eyes wide. She shifted to the couch and Helena easily made room, they sat cross-legged, knees touching, hands reaching. Sarah palms down, Helena palms up, they met, slid towards elbows.

Nothing had ever felt so real, so present, so strong.

“Do you feel it?” Helena sounded afraid to ask.

But Sarah’s lashes fluttered and her head fell forward, their brows knocking together softly, “Yeah. I feel it,” she said around a smile.

They stayed that way, foreheads and knees pressed, gripping forearms with tingling palms until until they fell asleep. S came down the stairs the next morning, as silent as Sarah, to find the twins tangled together in a messy heap on the couch. She cocked her head and smiled, confused. The girls were breathing deep and steady in matching rhythm and the normally light-sleeper, Sarah, didn’t move a muscle when S scooped the discarded blankets from the floor.

Helena, on instinct alone, S imagined, cracked an eye and tensed slightly. “Hush there, Chicken. You’re safe,” S whispered, “back to sleep, now.” She brushed her knuckles against Helena’s jaw and ran a gentle hand over Sarah’s hair. “Back to sleep.”


	2. A Cophine Love Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yoursonly: “Could you maybe explain how Cosima and Delphine got together? Its really nice that they are already a couple,but it would be nice sort of getting a behind the story, Im curious about it,since Delphine´s mom happens to teach at the same school there are in and everyone seems to be ok with them being a couple…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers for the plot of Cable Car here, just a look into Delphine's first few days at East Toronto High.

It was her voice that drew me first. Though I suppose that is not entirely true, it _was_ her voice that I _heard_ , but it was the words she _spoke_ that really pulled my attention: “What’s the next one, Leda and the Swan? Okay, so— Zeus, the big god of the gods, he comes down from Mount Olympus in the guise of a swan and he gets it on with this human queen called Leda. They have twins and the kids are half-human, half god.”

My eyes flicked up, catching their own reflection in the plexiglass of the vending machine. I ran my tongue over my teeth, it was not easy for me— staying quiet when someone was wrong.

And she was wrong.

I sighed and stood, turning and catching a glimpse of her. She was stretched over a table, watching her friend scribble on a worksheet from behind thickly-framed glasses. Her top was cropped high and her purple corduroy pants slung low, leaving the sloping valley of her back exposed. She reached out with an arm to tap at the page with her middle finger, I made a conscious effort to tune out whatever it was she was saying. She cocked her head and spun the paper around to look at it right-side up, nodding slowly as she read.

“It looks good.”

No, it didn’t. It couldn’t— she was wrong. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, reminding myself that it certainly wasn’t my place to correct her. I shook my head and opened my lunch, scanning the room for somewhere quiet to sit. There was no where. The whole cafeteria was bursting at the seams.

So I started walking, pulling chips out one at a time, and minutes later I was standing in front of my mother’s new classroom. I ran my fingers down the grain of the wood door and peeked through the glass inset in it. The room was empty, save for her sitting at her desk, one leg tucked up under her. I smiled and pulled the door open, poking my head in.

Her head jerked up, startled, but when her hazel eyes landed on mine she smiled broadly, “Delphine, how is your first day going?”

I slid into the room, shutting the door behind me. “It’s been alright,” I replied. It was refreshing to hear French after being surrounded by shouted English all morning, and it felt even better to speak it. I missed home already.

“Just alright?” She leaned back, swiveling her chair to face me, “Come sit, talk to me.”

I smiled and walked over, kissing her cheek and lifting myself onto the cleanest part of her desk. I dropped my empty chip bag in the can tucked against the wall in front of me. “I know it’s foolish, but couldn’t Kevin just find a job in Paris?” My toes grazed the ground, even from up on her desk, I tugged on the hem of my shorts, desperate for them to be longer— to cover my freakishly long legs.

She stopped spinning her brand-new wedding ring to swat at my hands knowingly, tutting. She loved my legs, she always said I was tall like my father, but she was just as tall as I was. “Of course this is rough, my love, but Kevin’s life is here, his children are here, it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to leave all of that behind.”

I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t fair for him to ask us to leave our lives behind, but I knew she was right. We had no attachments to Paris, none but my father’s vine-covered headstone. Kevin had an ex-wife and small children and a corporate job. My mother was an elementary school teacher and a waitress at a cafe, my grandparents had passed long before I was born, and I had very few friends to leave behind.

***

It was her voice again, that I heard. And again, it was her words that forced my attention to her reflection in the face of the vending machine. She was leaning back in her chair, tilting it on it’s back legs, her hands stabbing at the air in pointed motions, fingers outstretched. “Aldous Leekie is a eugenicist masquerading as a biologist, that’s enough for me to write him off. Sorry, my interest is in actual science, not bigotry.”

I tilted my head and spun slowly on my heel to face her opening my mouth to speak. She was wrong. Again. I snapped my jaw shut and shook my head gently, turning back to the machine, punching in my selection and tapping my toe— she wasn’t wrong, she was voicing an opinion. Opinions cannot be wrong.

But her opinion was wrong. Not that Aldous Leekie was a eugenicist, that was true, certainly, but that his teachings should be completely written off, that they fell outside of the realm of ‘actual science’. _Whatever that means._

“All this nonsense about self-directed evolution? It’s-It’s a veil, a-a curtain, he’s just preaching his opinion. There’s no science there.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that burst from my throat at the hypocrisy of her statement. I caught it quickly, but the noise was loud and when I glanced at her reflection her head head turned to track the sound. I knelt quickly and scooped my chips from the machine, spinning as fast as I could and walking with quick steps towards my mother’s classroom.

***

She was wrong the next day as well: “Coevolution hypothesis.”

I knelt in front of the vending machine, pushing the flap and reaching in for my, now habitual, lunch. Her friend was in my biology class, and no matter how hard I tried to ignore her, I could still hear her helping the girl with homework that was due yesterday. “It’s the hypothesis given to explain the Law of Extinction.”

No, wrong.

“I’m sorry?” Her voice was different, not the tone of it, but the sound, like it was bouncing at a different angle, like she was—

I closed my eyes, I’d spoken aloud? I turned slowly, my lids opening as I spun. She was facing me, turned completely in her chair, ringed fingers gripping the back of it. She wore an expression of surprise, maybe, but certainly not happy surprise. Her heavily made-up eyes were squinted, I could barely make out her orbs behind the thick paint. Her jaw was open and cocked to the side, tongue poking against the tip of a canine. “Excusez-moi, I didn’t mean to—“

“No,” her mouth curled up at one end in an odd smile, though her face was still skewed. “What were you saying?”

“I…” I glanced around for an escape but I didn’t recognize a single face but hers.

She gestured with an open palm for me to step forward, closer; her mouth finally closed, her chin and bottom lip poking out, eyebrows raised with expectation.

I dropped my hands, defeated, the bag of chips knocking against my thigh. I took a hesitant step forward. “The hypothesis given to explain the Law of Extinction.”

Her head tilted. Strands of her hair, clumped in thick, matted twists, fell against her shoulder. “Go on,” she said, lifting her weight slightly and turning her chair a bit in my direction before settling back down, “how did you interpret the question?”

I interpreted it the way everyone on the planet but her interpreted it, apparently. “The Red Queen hypothesis.”

Her face reverted to that tense, open jaw, jutted to the side. I wasn’t sure how to read her expression, I couldn’t tell if she was angry. “Host-parasite relations.”

I held up the hand not occupied with my lunch to stop her, “They must co-evolve to keep up with each other’s adaptations.”

“It’s a race,” she said.

I nodded, “Keep up or die.”

She stood. She was shorter than I’d imagined, square in the shoulders and boxy, but when she walked it was with her pelvis tilted towards me in a display I could only describe as erotic. She had her ear to her shoulder, eyeing me still, but her lips were curled in an easily read smile. I was thankful for small blessings. Her feet crossed over each other as she moved, like a model on a catwalk, and each step was slow and thought out. It felt like ages before she reached me.

She extended her hand, a mess of bracelets playing out musically down her arm. I swallowed. Her wide mouth suddenly split into a toothy grin, “Cosima.”

Cosima was often wrong, but she was also charming, direct, sweet, and unbearably gentle. The first time she kissed me (over a shared chemistry textbook), I knew with absolute certainty that she was right— Cosima was right for me, she was right about the equation I was fighting her on, and she was right about us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...know nothing about science. I have a good friend named Alicia who does and she is my forced science consultant for every single thing I do, like ever. She stepped up to help with this, just like she always does. So thanks, kid, for saving me-- every single damn time.


	3. CC Chapter 5, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot has spoilers for Chapter 5 of Cable Car. If you haven't read chapter 5 and you don't want to get spoiled, stop now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dryily: "I really hope you're gonna write a one-shot on what Sarah's thoughts about Beth are."
> 
> Maybe not exactly what you were looking for when you wanted an expansion on Sarah's thoughts about spilling about Helena to Beth, but I'm NOT IN CONTROL OF THE MUSE.

Sarah wakes frequently on nights like these. She comes to quickly, not with the gentle roll of wakefulness but the sudden thrust of alarm. Her body doesn’t jerk— not really, but her eyes open fast and wide like she’ll see something in the blackness of her room. Like she’ll see something before it sees her. She glances to her right, Helena’s bed is miles away and her eyes can’t form shape to anything but monstrous shadows in the night. The night-table between their beds holds a clock that reads 2:35am. She rolls over, pressing her face into the pillows, but her bladder is full and sleep will have to wait. It’s cold outside of her blanket, but she musters up the will to slip her bare legs into the tundra of the darkness. They drop from the edge of the bed and crash into a body. Sarah would start, would flinch with fear, but she can feel the familiarity of the thing as her leg grazes against it.

“Helena,” she groans, pressing her foot against what feels like Helena’s shoulder, coarse curls tangling around her toes, she shoves.

There is a grunt as Helena topples to the side, pushed towards her own unmade bed. She moans as she comes to. Her pale skin is luminescent and Sarah can make out hands moving towards eyes, rubbing, rubbing. “Sestra…?” Helena’s voice cracks with confusion.

“You were sleeping by my bed again,” Sarah explains.

Every night it’s the same fight, the same innocent eyes whispering the same plea. But it’s Sarah’s bed, and Helena has her own, and Sarah doesn’t need Helena to sleep, she doesn’t. She doesn’t. She’d slept without her for fourteen years. And to be honest the staticky energy between them keeps her awake sometimes— the way it tickles the darks hairs on her arm.

Helena isn’t as quiet as she once was, over the past three years her movements have grown clumsy and heavy with the relative safety of Mrs. S’s house. She clambers over books and papers strewn across the floor and pulls herself onto her mattress, the springs clanging under her sharp elbows and knees.

Sarah sighs and stands, shuffling bare feet across the carpet, reaching for the door knob. The flash of light when it shocks her takes up her vision for an instant so that when she closes her eyes she can see it’s tiny blue spark against her field of black. She whispers a curse and makes her way to the bathroom. When she’s done and she’s run her hands lazily under icy water in the muscular bathroom light, she’s plunged back into too-dark darkness. Five years in this house have given lend to confident steps, though still slow and without heels touching the ground.

She’s cracking her door, she’s sliding inside and shutting it behind her. But when she dips to her mattress, she is not alone. “Fuck, Helena!” She’s perhaps louder than she should be, louder than she needed to be, but she’s had enough and she’s tired and ready to sleep for another three restless hours before waking up to roll over and check on her sister from across the room. Where she belongs. In her own bed.

Helena is roughed awake at the sound, her curls covering her face, and Sarah’s hands are on her hard and angry and pulling her off the bed and onto the floor with a bang. She’s shoving with her feet into Helena’s ribs and back and the blonde scrambles, still mostly asleep, across the chasm to her own bed. Which has never felt like her own bed.

“Sarah?”

A grunt as she settles into the warmth of her blankets, breathing deeply.

“I had a dream about Beth.”

“What?” Sarah groans and rolls to face Helena— hanging halfway on her bed, a leg and arm dangling off the side.

“I had a dre—“

“Yeah, I heard you. I…” Sarah presses the heels of her palms into her eyes until she’s seeing bright red. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

Helena is quiet for a second, “Yes. Sorry.”

It doesn’t take Sarah long to fall back asleep— into a deep enough lull that she doesn’t notice Helena crawl on palms and feet, knees bent around her body as she creeps across the void. And Helena’s fingers are slow as they slide under Sarah’s blanket until she’s wrist, elbow, shoulder deep. Until she’s got her head under the thing and her arms are running against Sarah’s bare skin, calves and thighs and her stomach where her shirt has ridden up.

She groans and weakly palms Helena’s face away, but even as she does it she scoots closer to the wall. The mattress shifts when Helena’s knees tuck up onto it. And she’s on her side, and she’s pressing her feet into the edge of the bed to push closer until her back is flush against Sarah’s side.

Sarah turns into her, curling around her with the faintest hint of a begrudging moan. She’s got an arm draped over Helena at the shoulder, her elbow hanging over, forearm stretched up Helena’s body, wrist cuddled to the blonde’s chest. Their fingers tangle together under Helena’s jaw.

And Sarah doesn’t wake up at 4am, she doesn’t wake up at 5am, she doesn’t wake up with her alarm at 6:30 until S is poking her auburn head through the cracked door, hollering.

The girls untangle knees hooked over hips and ankles criss-crossed, until they’re two separate beings again, sweaty in the creases and squinting against the morning light streaming through their window. Sarah’s not awake enough to be rough around the edges and she’s gentle fingers and smooth slow blinks and she’s smiling at Helena like maybe the sun rises in her white-blonde tangles.

Helena lives for moments like this, and she reaches out and touches the freckle on Sarah’s right cheek. “Good morning, Sestra.”

Sarah’s head drops back and she groans, “Nooo, I’m dropping out.”

S is shouting from the hall, “You’ll do no such thing, you’ve got to get a job and pay for my nursing home! Out of bed, all of you, or you’ll be to school without breakfast!”

Helena rolls out of bed, barely catching herself with desperate feet. S only had to skip breakfast once to never have to do it again. Helena grips Sarah’s arm and tugs her to the edge of the bed. “Sestra, breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard her, Meathead,” she flings her legs off the edge of the bed, reaching for the discarded jeans she threw off the night before. She tugs them on her hips while Helena disappears to the bathroom.

Sarah yawns and stretches, cracking the knuckles of her sleep-stiffened fingers. When Helena comes back it’s with a mouth filled with foam, toothbrush jutting out from the corner of her lips. She’s got Sarah’s in her fist and is thrusting it out.

“You had a dream last night, ‘lena?”

Helena nods, “About Beth Childs.”

She pauses the back and forth scrubbing of her molars, “What happened?”

“I don’t remember, but it was a good dream, I think.”

“You think?” Sarah said over her shoulder as they pad towards the bathroom.

The girls spit into the sink at the same time, toothbrushes fighting for position under the faucet. Felix is in behind them, his slender body crushed against the door, on tip toes to see himself in the mirror over their heads.

“Sometimes it is not so easy to tell,” Helena mutters, replacing her toothbrush in the cup by the sink and vacating the bathroom. Sarah looks up into the mirror at her own reflection. She can understand that, dreams were fragile things in their bedroom. “Sarah,” her blonde mane whips around the doorframe again, “will you tell her?”

Sarah’s eyes moved to meet hers in their reflection, “Yeah?”

“I do not want to.”

Sarah offers a sigh in lieu of a response, handing Felix the eyeliner over her shoulder and digging for her eyeshadow in the drawer below the sink. Helena is gone again, footfalls thumping down the stairs.

When she finally makes her way to the kitchen Helena is digging around in a box of cereal, looking for the prize at the bottom. Sarah sits across from her and S hands her a piece of toast, a glaze of butter already melting over it. “Helena, you really want me to tell her everything? We’ve only known her a week, don’t you think it’s a bit soon?”

S stills, a cup of steaming tea halfway to her mouth, brows raising on her forehead as she listens to their exchange.

“Yes,” Helena says, shoving dry cereal into her mouth, “she is good to me.”

Sarah sighs, “That’s great.”

“I walk her to history class, she’s very nice.”

“I know she’s nice Helena, I wouldn’t let her hang around with us if she wasn’t nice.”

Helena shakes her head, pushing more cereal between her lips, “She is nice to me.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll talk to her today. Yeah?”

S pushes around them to the foot of the stairs, “Felix, get down here and eat. You’re holding everyone up!”


	4. Felony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: “Also I wanna see Tony and felix talking bout kids. Wonder how Felix would react to that”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers for this one, but if you're into chronology it takes place after Tony and Beth's chat in chapter 6.

“Do you want another line, baby?” He comes up from the coffee table with a sniff and rests his hand on my chest. It’s so heavy for such a light thing. I pick it up, hold it to my face for a closer look. It’s just bone and sinew, roundish joints and popping tendons under the thinnest skin. “Tony?” His pupils are blown when we lock eyes and he looks worried for a moment, but then he’s laughing so loud and free and his head is thrown back and his mouth is wide open and his throat is out there and shaking with the sounds.

The world is moving fast, but I know it’s just the drugs. I’ve had enough— I’d had enough years ago, but he keeps me young. This boy. This boy.

I’d go to jail for him. I could. Fresh-faced, just-turned-sixteen, couldn’t-grow-a-beard-if-he-tried. This boy. But fuck, I love him. I love him hard, like I didn’t think was possible. And I’d throw it all away for him— my future— if I had one to throw away.

Her fucking voice is ringing in my ears, like she knows shit about my life, about his life. Like she knows what kind of man he is (boy he is). Fucking Beth Childs. Like she knows shit about anything outside of a bottle or a soccer field.

“What do you think about Alexander?” I’m saying, like I fucking want to know the answer.

His eyes are blinking slow and fractured, two stunted camera shutters. _Clakclackkkclak_. “What?”

Fuck. “Alexander, the name.”

“Who is Alexander?” He’s squirming in my lap, his long legs are kicking out. He’s flailing like a fish trying to turn to get them around me but the couch cushions are in the way, the throw blanket.

I grip his hips and help him out, spin him so he’s straddling me. “Nobody is Alexander, Fee. I want to know what you think of the name.”

“What I think of the name?”

I sigh, heavy, this kid is going to be the death of me. “Yeah, Fee, what you think of the fucking name.”

“For a person?!” He’s flying, I don’t know why I thought I could talk to him like this. But he’s always like this. We both are, I think, I can’t remember the last time we weren’t. He loves the high and I love him. So I pull strings, I make deals, I’m good at it…always have been— back when I was wild of my own volition. And it beats the alternative, I couldn’t bear to see this beautiful boy on his knees. “For a baby.”

He’s on his knees now, they’re pressing into the wooden frame of the couch, where all the fluff has worn out. He’s leaning over me, hips against my diaphragm like I can’t breathe for the weight of ‘em, and he’s trailing those lips against my jaw. “A baby?” He’s laughing again, falling off to the side, knocking into the arm of the couch and nearly rolling onto the floor before I catch him by the back pocket of his jeans and haul him back up. And for a moment I think we’re on the same page, but then he says: “Who the fuck is having a baby?” And his laughter suddenly stops and his eyes widen and he’s flailing again, (the longest mess of limbs, this boy) and he looks at me so serious. “Is someone pregnant?”

Like it’s gossip. It ain’t fucking gossip. Nobody’s fucking pregnant.

I push his legs off of my lap and lean forward to scoop the goods off the table. “I’m not done yet!” He’s whining.

“You’re done, Felix.” I’m grumbling, because my high is wearing off and I’m tired of this. So tired of it. So ready to be done.

“I’m not. I’m not done.”

I shake my head and open the pouch, knock the powder loose bangin’ my palm against the notebook. I wiggle the thing back and forth until I get most of the shit in the bag and I zip it up. “What about when you’re done with school? What do you want to do?” What do you want to do other than a constant rotation of uppers and downers. I can’t keep up with you, boy.

He sits up and watches me, scoots to the edge of the couch and reaches out to help. He rolls the dollar bill we use around a hardware nail to keep it tight, fits it into a cigarillo tube. He brushes off the coffee table. “I don’t know. I could be a cosmetologist or something.”

He’d make a good one too, I smile. “It’s a lot of hard work.”

“Janis Meeples did it.”

“Yeah she did.”

I drop the notebook on the table and he runs his finger over the barely-there whiteness on the plastic cover. His long digits find their way past my lips to rub the drugs against my gums. He kisses my cheek. “We could get a flat, I don’t know.”

“Would you like that?” He doesn’t have any concept of how much things cost, that school is thousands of dollars, a shitty apartment is at least $800 a month. Working at my uncle’s garage won’t land us that kind of flow.

“I’d love that,” he dips his head to leave tiny kisses along my cheekbone all the way to my ear. He whispers, “Just you and me.” And I’m remembering my uncle’s offer for extra cash, if I ever wanted to work jobs for him. It’s seeming like it’s maybe not such a bad idea.

Because all of this? This is only for a little while. Me and my boy are going to get us a cozy little apartment and he’s going to cut snooty bitches' hair at Blonde or Seven or some froofy place like that, and goddamnit, we’ll be done with everything but weed.

We’ll name our first kid Alexander after my uncle’s son that died before his first birthday. And we’ll name our second kid Sarah, after his sister because she’s saved his ass for this long. And we’ll get a dog, something fun like a lab or a golden retriever. We’ll upgrade to some shitty rental house, a duplex or something with angry neighbors, but it’ll have a fenced in yard and I’ll put together a swing set and…

He’s leaning back against the couch, singing something at the top of his lungs, I wish I could recognize it. It’s beautiful.

Things’ll change— he’s still young.


	5. Marie Curie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: “Jeez I wanna hear about this "hot date" cosima and Delphine are trippin over lol”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, looks like the one-shots took a turn for smut-ville, I hope no one minds. You can all blame NobodyImportant. This was meant to just be a short little thing, but...oops, 3700 words. I got off a full night of work and wrote this and now I'm exhausted so I didn't edit it at all, my apologies if it sucks. This is my first foray into the naughty, so I'm a bit nervous about posting, but there are at least two other explicit one-shots so I've got to get over those first-time jitters at some point.
> 
> Cosima and Delphine celebrate a hard-won internship with a fancy dinner and some wine in the back of Cosima's van-- Marie Curie.

Delphine held her water glass up off the table in a toast, “Congratulations on your new job!”

Cosima’s tongue was a flash of pink behind bared teeth when she clinked their glasses, “Isn’t it bad luck to toast with water?”

“Maybe,” Delphine smiled and sipped from her glass, “I wouldn’t worry too much about your luck, ma chérie.” A man in a sharp tie and vest dropped off their check.

The restaurant was easily the fanciest either of them had ever been to. Cosima’s full-sized van had looked absolutely ridiculous pulling in, Delphine had to plead with her to bypass valet parking (not that it was any less embarrassing doing it by themselves— jamming the beast between an Audi and a BMW). Cosima had scrambled, shouting “Wait, wait, wait!” as she rounded the car to open Delphine’s door as fast as she could in high-heeled booties, banging the butt of her palm against the windows as she went. Her stride was further shortened by a knee-length black dress that looked more like a slip than anything substantial. Delphine couldn’t complain though, the dress was cut in all the places her eyes liked to wander.

“You should have let me get us those fake IDs,” Cosima purred, sultry and quiet across the table cloth, “we could have ordered a bottle, made a night of it.”

Delphine smiled and winked, “I think you’ll find me perfectly capable of smuggling wine into the van— no ID required.”

Cosima gasped, leaning over the table conspiratorially, “You hid wine in Marie Curie?”

The blonde nodded in response, “Under the seat.”

Cosima’s eyes flashed, “I can hardly wait. This place is hella stuffy,” she glanced over her shoulder at the businessmen and women schmoozing clients and the married couples having anniversary dinners, “we didn’t even get to choose our food!”

Delphine laughed, “The chef plans the menu special here, that’s the way it works Cosima.”

The girl had her dreadlocks up in a bun that was a bit too tight, her jewelry like wind-chimes when she scratched at her scalp with the tip of a finger. “It’s good, don’t get me wrong, but, like, a burger would have been fine.”

Delphine rolled her eyes and swatted at her, “Oh stop it, this is nice. We have something to celebrate.”

“It’s not even a job, Delphine, it’s just an internship.”

She squeezed the shorter teen’s hand, “A very prestigious internship. It will look great on your university applications.”

Cosima smiled, “Yeah, it will.”

“How was your first day, anyway?” Delphine opened her clutch and fished bills from inside, paying the check with money she’d saved up babysitting. She stood, her silver sequined dress catching the light and Cosima’s distracted eye.

The tattooed girl took another mouthful of water and stood, smoothing her own dress and steadying herself with fingertips on the table. “Uh, it was good. I did lots of organizing, I made folders and filed things.” They made their way to the front of the restaurant, and when a young man held Delphine’s coat out for her Cosima snatch it away, sniping at him, “I got it, I got it.” She shook it out and eased it over Delphine’s arms, up on tip toes to kiss a bare shoulder before it disappeared under the fabric.

The boy’s eyes flitted to Delphine, holding Cosima’s coat in his hands, unsure if he’d be chastised for doing his job again. “Uh,” he sputtered.

Delphine smiled warmly, her eyes soft when she reached for his arm. She squeezed it gently, “I’ll do it,” she whispered, winking.

He gave a crooked smile and handed it over. “Did you ladies use our valet service this evening?”

“Non, we didn’t, but thank you,” Delphine helped Cosima into her peacoat, slipping a hand under the few dreads that were loosed from her bun, pulling them free and brushing her knuckles against the shell of Cosima’s ear. “We just parked around the side.” The two shared a smile that Cosima distractedly got in on after a beat. “Let’s go, mon amour,” Delphine urged the dreaded girl towards the door with hands on her shoulders, “we don’t want to leave Marie Curie waiting.”

The night was cold, too cold even for early Spring, their breath came in thick puffs of moisture and they shivered, bare knees knocking as they shuffled around the building. The lot was gravel and they had to hold on to each other, giggling loudly, both wearing heels tall enough to make navigating the shifting surface beneath them nearly impossible. “I’m going to break an ankle.” Cosima laughed, an arm wrapped tightly around her girlfriend’s waist.

“Ah! Be careful!” Delphine stumbled, nearly breaking something herself. “The van is right here.”

Cosima trotted the last few paces, pulling Delphine along. She turned her back to the passenger’s door and licked her lips as Delphine moved close, pressing her into it. She looked up into hooded hazel eyes, “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” Delphine’s voice was low, whispered across the short distance between their mouths. She dipped her head to close the space barely brushing against Cosima, pulling back when the smaller girl parted her lips expectantly. “Wine,” Delphine muttered, “in the van, now.”

Cosima stomped her feet excitedly, though a bit wobbly. “Yesss,” she hissed, reaching an arm behind her to fumble with the handle, “keys.” Delphine dug in her purse, producing them quickly. She shifted her weight from foot to foot while Cosima spun, jingling keys searching for the lock.

They stepped back and Cosima swung the door open. Marie Curie’s two rear bench seats were arranged to face each other and the dreaded teen launched herself head-first over the back of the seat. She tumbled unceremoniously into the rear of the van landing on the pillows and fluffy blankets she’d hurriedly tossed in before leaving her house. Delphine giggled and climbed into the passenger’s seat, shutting the door behind her. “Should we go somewhere else?”

“Somewhere more private?” Cosima hummed suggestively, sitting up and poking her head into the front of the van.

Delphine smiled and dug under the seat for the wine she’d hidden, “Yes. That is what I was implying.”

Cosima’s eyes rolled in thought, “Hmmm, no.” She reached over the seat to take the bottle, shucking the brown paper bag. “Where did you get this?”

“Tony was more than happy to provide,” Delphine leaned down and slipped her sling-backs off with a finger.

“My boy!” Cosima laughed and fumbled with the cork, “Shit.”

“Don’t worry,” Delphine had her head down, digging through the center console. She popped up and tapped Cosima’s shoulder, gesturing to the other side. Cosima moved across the gap and Delphine glanced around out the window before hopping over the seat, falling on her back against the cushion, giggling. She opened her fisted hands to produce a sharp metal nail file and a lighter she’d found. “We can push it in the bottle.”

She sat up and wedged the wine between tight knees, stabbing the cork with the nail file and using the bottom of the lighter to push it through until it came out the bottom of the cork. “Sexy McGuiver.” Cosima licked her lips and leaned across the aisle to kiss Delphine.

“Mmm, yes.” The teen smiled, yanking out the file and tossing it into the front. “Now we just…” she pressed the end of the lighter against the cork until it gave, popping down into the bottle, “Ta da!” Delphine grinned, “Nothing can stand between me and a bottle of wine.”

“You are so fucking French, I can’t even.” Cosima was on her knees, grabby hands reaching for the alcohol. Delphine relented and passed it to her, using the time to strip off her coat and drop it into the front seat.

“Mmm,” Cosima licked her lips, staining deep red, “it’s good.”

“It’s cheap,” Delphine smiled, reaching for it and taking a sip. She traded the bottle for Cosima’s coat and threw it on top of her own. “Tell me more about your internship.”

Cosima took a long swallow, “I’ll mostly be making TSA plates.”

“Culturing bacteria? That sounds fun.” Delphine leaned back, stretching her legs across the empty space between bench seats, resting her bare feet against the far side.

“Mhmm,” Cosima licked a dribble of wine from her chin and passed the bottle, undoing the zippers of her booties and yanking them off one after the other, dropping them to the messy floor. “I’ll mix solutions and pull rat experiment data off the computer.”

“Do you get to play with the rats?” Delphine took a pull from the bottle.

Cosima shook her head and rested her back against the side of the van, draping her knees over Delphine’s shins. “No, another company does the testing.” She paused for a beat before jumping, “Oh! And I get to do little experiments too.”

Delphine’s eyebrows rose and she fit the wine into a cup-holder pulling her legs under her until she was on her knees— head bowed to avoid knocking it against the ceiling, “Like what?”

Cosima’s eyes followed her movements, “Like, stuff my bosses don’t want to do.”

“Mmm,” Delphine dropped forward, one fist pressing into the cushion at Cosima’s hip and the other gripping the back of the seat. She leaned into the smaller girl’s personal space, dodging her when she leaned up for a kiss. “Tell me about the experiments first.”

Cosima shifted, pressing her knees together so Delphine could fit a leg between her and the back of the bench. She rested her hands on Delphine’s hips, pulling her closer until she was straddling Cosima’s lap. She tilted her head back to keep the blonde girl’s face in view. “Ummm, just, like, testing the surgical lavage and…” she trailed off, her lips finding purchase on a scar exposed by Delphine’s swooping neckline.

Hazel eyes fluttered closed and Delphine let out a content sigh, her hands reaching up to cup Cosima’s face. She licked her lips, holding her girlfriend to her chest, “And?”

Cosima’s words were muffled against pale flesh, “And checking pulse gun compatibility.”

Delphine groaned quietly, “Pulse gun compatibility?”

Cosima grinned, craning her neck to trail kisses along the underside of Delphine’s jaw, “It’s not as exciting as it sounds.”

“It sounds very exciting.” Delphine trailed long fingers down Cosima’s throat, slipping under the spaghetti straps of her dress to push them off the girl’s shoulders.

The moment her shoulders were bare Cosima sprung into action, wrapping her arms around Delphine’s body to tug down the zipper of her sparkling silver dress. “Get out of this,” frantic hands tugged at the tight-fitting clothing.

Delphine tutted, gripping Cosima’s wrists with surprising strength. “Slow down, ma cœur. We have all the time in the world.”

“And if the police show up?” Cosima grinned wolfishly, “Maybe a quickie is a better idea.”

Delphine pinned her girlfriend’s hands against the cold window, “Non, if the police come, we’ll give them a show.” She arched her back until her breasts were pressed against Cosima’s, lips hovering over the shorter girl’s open mouth. She smiled slyly kissing Cosima’s upper lip, pulling it gently between her own, teeth grazing.

The dreaded girl groaned, pressing up into Delphine’s body, shifting her hips eagerly. “Delphine,” it was nearly a whine.

“Worked up so soon?” Delphine laughed, dropping her head lower to nibble at the slope of Cosima’s neck.

She snorted air from her nostrils, “I’m easy, what can I say.” She managed to untangle her hands with relative ease, trailing her fingers up the outsides of Delphine’s arms and across her shoulders, down her back, closing around the edge of her dress. The tall girl relented, sitting up and shimmying. She eventually had to drop to the other bench, pressing her weight onto her shoulder blades and bending her knees to get the garment past her hips. Cosima moved with her, pressing kisses to newly exposed skin as she pulled the dress down. She stopped suddenly when Delphine’s too-small boyshorts became visible, she pulled back. “These,” she snapped the waistband, “are mine.” Laughing amber eyes looked up to meet Delphine’s.

The taller girl bit her lip to stifle a giggle, “You left them at my house, I found them in the laundry.

Cosima growled and dipped her head, nipping playfully at the tender skin below the blonde’s navel. “Very cheeky,” she muttered.

Delphine squealed and twisted her hips, “I was just returning them!” Her palms found the top of Cosima’s head, splaying against it.

“Did I tell you how much I love this dress?”

Delphine chuckled, “You did,” she licked her lips, fingers running between the tight braids on Cosima’s scalp, “several times.” Her knees parted slightly once the dress was over them and Cosima’s breath tickled the inside of one, making Delphine giggle and tighten her fingers against Cosima’s head. She could feel the smirk twisting her girlfriend’s lips against her thigh.

“Good.” She pulled the dress off Delphine’s ankles and shucked it to the floor before sitting up quickly, spreading her arms out, “Do you like mine?” It wasn’t a question, it was an invitation.

Delphine grinned widely, sucking her bottom lip between rows of pearly teeth, “I do.” Deft fingers found the zipper under Cosima’s right arm, drawing it down slowly— the moment the zipper was all the way down the slim black dress fell to a heap around Cosima’s bent knees. The short girl dropped back onto her butt, kicking the dress off and shifting back to her knees, leaning across the gap between the seats. Delphine wrapped her long legs around the other girl’s waist, settling her calves into the small of Cosima’s back, pulling her closer until their lips met.

Cosima let her weight slide off the seat and thump to the floor, empty cigarette packs and her shoes pressing into her kneecaps and shins. She ignored the discomfort, preoccupied by the gentle slope of Delphine’s stomach. “You wore my favorite bra,” her fingers traced along the underwire, tickling the blonde’s ribs as she went.

“Take it off,” Delphine said, her voice barely above a whisper. Amber eyes darted up to meet Delphine’s, the blonde quirked an eyebrow and thrust her chest out slightly. Cosima grinned and pinched the clasp between her breasts, popping it open easily. She slid her warm palms against Delphine’s sternum, pushing the bra aside reverently, fingertips brushing against stiffening nipples. Delphine let out a short breath, arching into the brunette’s hands. Cosima leaned over her further, tugging the straps down her arms; Delphine sat up as much as she could with her girlfriend hovering over her, twisting her long arms behind her back to pull the suddenly offensive article of clothing off completely.

Cosima groaned quietly when Delphine settled back into the seat, trailing her lips across the blonde’s chest, tongue darting out to play against her scar before moving lower and engulfing a nipple in the heat of her mouth. A moan broke from Delphine’s throat and one of her hands came up of it’s own will to cup the back of Cosima’s neck, massaging with deep, slow squeezes. Cosima’s eyelids fluttered shut against the pressure and she hummed around the peaked flesh, brushing over it with the flat of her tongue.

Delphine gathered her focus, pulling out the clip that held Cosima’s thick locks in place. She tossed it over her shoulder and ran her fingers through the dreads, tugging gently and settling them around Cosima’s shoulders. “Je t’aime.”— it came out in a tender whisper, the way it often did.

Cosima’s lips curled and she released Delphine’s breast, leaning up to kiss her softly, “I love you, too.”

They smiled, four eyes twinkling. Delphine’s hands found Cosima’s shoulders, pushing her down gently, “Show me.”

Cosima chuckled and traced her teeth with the tip of her tongue, leaning it to click their lips together once more before nestling back onto the floor. With a bit of teamwork they managed to pull Cosima’s boyshorts off of the blonde, dropping them in the pile of discarded clothes. She urged Delphine’s knees up on either side of her, the taller girl pressing her heels into the edge of the seat across from her. Cosima’s fingers splayed, trying to cover as much skin as possible as they slid up Delphine’s thighs and around to her hips. She gripped the blonde, tugging her closer to the edge of the seat. “This isn’t going to be very comfortable for either of us. Why did we decide to do this in the van again?”

Delphine laughed and ran her hands down her body, absently sliding her fingers through her own wetness, “Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

“Oh yeah?” Cosima smirked, reaching out to meet Delphine’s playing fingers.

“It’ll take longer if you just sit there staring,” she arched her hips up gently.

Cosima’s brows rose and she nudged her thumb against the underside of the blonde’s clit, drawing a gasp from her. “Who’s in a hurry now?”

Delphine growled and rolled her hips against Cosima’s fingers, “Cosima,” she said in a warning tone.

The short girl chuckled and took off her glasses and rings, settling them in a cupholder before she wrapped her arms around the other girl’s thighs. She lowered her head to kiss the patch of soft curls on Delphine’s mound before parting her girlfriend’s folds with her tongue, sliding slowly up to circle her clit without touching it. Delphine released a moan as her head fell back against the seat, one hand moving to cup her breast, the other tangling fingers in thick blonde hair.

“I’ve missed you,” Cosima hummed into Delphine’s sex, “it’s been so long.”

“We had sex yesterday,” Delphine chuckled, her breath catching when Cosima’s fingers opened her to the cool night air and used the flat of her tongue in a broad swipe.

Cosima nodded, “But I didn’t eat you out yesterday.” She dipped into Delphine’s entrance briefly before moving back up to slide against her clit.

Delphine moaned, “Good point, I’m glad we’re rectifying that situation now.”

“You and me both.” Cosima pulled the nub between her lips sucking gently and rolling her tongue against it.

Delphine’s jaw hit her chest and she tugged roughly at Cosima’s dreads, letting out a whimper, “Merde.”

The brunette chuckled, grazing her teeth against the bundle of nerves, releasing one of Delphine’s thighs to tease her opening with her middle finger.

“Tell me you’re saving lives,” Delphine moaned, her hips stuttering to find Cosima’s dipping finger.

Cosima laughed, vibrations moving through Delphine’s clit. She released it and looked up at the blonde, “What?”

“Your internship,” the blush that already covered Delphine’s chest was rapidly spreading up her neck to her cheeks, “the work your putting in developing anti-microbial products—“

Cosima caught on and hummed, dropping back down to nibble Delphine’s labia, “For the debridement of wounds, yes,” her voice dropped an octave, “I’m helping save lives.”

The sound that came from Delphine was a mix between a laugh and a moan, “That’s hot.”

“Yeah?” Her finger slid home slowly while she watched Delphine’s face relax, her shoulders ease. “I’m glad you’re into that.” Her mouth caught Delphine’s thigh, sucking the skin while she pulled her finger all the way out before pressing forward again at an agonizingly slow pace.

Delphine’s hips bucked against her, “More.”

On the next movement in Cosima added another finger, drawing a thankful moan from the taller girl. Cosima released the blonde’s thigh when she was certain she’d left a mark— a rosy hickey against milk-white skin. She surveyed her handiwork, her fingers accidentally stilling.

“Cosima,” Delphine whimpered and ground against her fingers, “s’il te plaît.”

The brunette grinned and picked up the motion of her fingers, “Sorry, sorry, I got distracted.” It took several minutes of slow, gentle thrusting before Delphine’s hips became more insistent. Cosima draped an arm over them, stilling her. “Let me do the work.”

Delphine bucked against Cosima’s forearm, “Then do it, you’re driving me crazy.”

She chuckled and increased the speed of her thrusts, twisting her fingers with each push. She obliged when Delphine whispered for more force, and soon the taller girl’s thighs were trembling, the muscles of her stomach tense and twitching. Cosima lowered her mouth to Delphine’s clit, pulling it into her mouth and flicking against it quickly until desperate pants broke into a single continuous moan above her.

Delphine’s fingers got lost in dreadlocks, her thighs squeezing tightly against the smaller girl’s ears as she came. Cosima knew her body well enough to continue thrusting through the increasing wetness and clenching muscles— a slow build up could often lead to multiple orgasms for the blonde. “One more, baby,” Cosima crooned, kissing Delphine’s mound lovingly, “come on, I know you’ve got another one.” Delphine bit her lip, her back arching as her muscles spasmed again around Cosima’s skilled fingers even before the aftershocks of her first orgasm had fully-faded. Cosima smiled widely, taking in the view of Delphine’s body, rocking with her thrusts as she came down, “More?”

“Non, non,” Delphine was breathless, pleading, her hands untangling from Cosima’s hair to wrap around the shorter girl’s wrists.

Cosima nuzzled her girlfriend’s thigh, slowing her fingers until they were resting motionless inside, thumb lazily stroking around Delphine’s clit, careful to avoid direct contact. She could feel the shuddering contractions against her knuckles and purred into the crease of Delphine’s pelvis, “I love making you come.”

Delphine let out a weak breath, “Yes, I love it too.” They laughed together, the taller girl stroking her fingers along Cosima’s cheeks. She whispered, “You are so beautiful like this.”

“Between your legs?” The brunette smirked.

Delphine nodded, humming, “Covered in me,” her fingers slid against the slick coating Cosima’s chin.

“I’m going to pull out,” Cosima warned, ignoring Delphine’s protesting groan. She withdrew her fingers slowly and replaced them with her tongue, cleaning her with gentle strokes. After a few moments of contented sighs Delphine gripped her shoulders, pulling her up into a kiss.

They moaned into each other’s mouths, Delphine snaking her legs around Cosima to hold her close while their tongues pressed slowly. She broke the kiss, pressing her forehead against Cosima’s and bumping their noses together gently, “It’s my turn.”

A wide grin broke over the shorter girl’s face. “I’m totally stoked.”

Delphine purred, hazel eyes turning suddenly hungry, “You should be.”


	6. The Immovable Object and The Unstoppable Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: "a one-shot of how Cosima and Sarah met"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers, just a bit of fun with teeny baby PunkyMonkey. Special guest appearance by itty-bitty Felix.
> 
> I did a very rough edit with this, sorry if it's not up to code (not that any of my stuff ever is).

Sarah was eight— burly and brutal despite her size. She had Cosima trapped, guarding the playground equipment like a troll requesting toll to pass. She laid on her back in the scoop of the tube slide, feet kicked up against the far side, legs blocking the hole for any kid looking to take a trip down it.

Cosima was eight and three-quarters— square-framed glasses and hair unruly with its thick volume. She stood on a cocked hip, arms crossed over her chest. Cosima’s family had moved to Brixton six months prior to this meeting, though it certainly wasn’t the first of its kind.

To say that Cosima was less than thrilled with England would be an understatement. She missed the cool breeze that came off the San Francisco Bay, missed the wider streets, the newer buildings, the metal where here there was only stone and brick. But her father swore to her that it was only eight and three-quarters more months until they would move again. She tried to make him swear that it would be back to California, back to her beaches and her friends, but he’d only offer sad smiles and gentle tuts before ruffling her dark hair.

The worst part of England were the accents, Cosima was sure. Or the weather, she was surer about that. It was the weather that was the worst. Her mom tried to show her the history-rich country, but Cosima sat stern in the back seat of their small car. She hated her parent’s jobs— that’s what had brought them there, some research grant with some college. Cosima swore she would never have an interest in science, would never use anthropology as an excuse to drag her daughter away from San Francisco.

Cosima stomped her foot, but Sarah just smirked up at her, shrugging her little troll shoulders. The spectacled girl spun on her heel, but the only other exit off the castle podium they stood on was through the wobbly bridge, and little six-year-old Felix gripped the chains of it and shifted his weight to make it shake menacingly. His grin was cruel and full of heady power. There was nowhere to turn, no way out.

She spun back to Sarah. “What do you want, Sarah?”

“You’re goin’ to do my maths for the rest of the year, yeah?” Sarah curled her fingers into her palm, inspecting her bare nails.

“And mine!” Felix shouted, jumping to be heard, his feet banging noisily against the crashing plastic of the shifting bridge.

Sarah sucked her teeth and waved dismissively in his direction, “An’ his.”

“No,” Cosima shook her head. “I won’t do it.”

Sarah laughed, “Yeh, you will.”

Cosima felt anger swelling, all of the hate for England, the hate for her parents, the hate for the evil troll Sarah and her tiny troll henchman. She flung out a foot, catching Sarah in the side as hard as she could, screaming at the top of her lungs, “GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

Sarah coughed, curling in on herself and clutching her ribs. Without her weight braced against the slide she slid down it, weakly sputtering as she went. Cosima held her weight up with hands on either side of the slide, shifting until she was seated and letting go, sliding happily down until she ran gently into Sarah.

“Move, Sarah Manning.” She warned.

“You’re bloody nuts!” Sarah gasped for air.

“You stomp around here thinking you’re an immovable object, but I’m an unstoppable force. They can’t exist at the same time, you see?” Cosima reached out with a finger to poke at the tip of Sarah’s nose roughly, pushing until Sarah’s neck gave and shifted out of the way. “I exist.”

Sarah’s brows came together in confusion. “You exist? What about me?”

“Move.”

And the immovable object moved, pushing herself backwards off the slide until she fell flat on her back into the wood chips.


	7. Cinderella and the Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: "You know we're gonna need a one-shot of Felix and Tony's fallout (and makeup)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot has spoilers for chapter 7 of the high school AU Cable Car. If you haven't read it yet and you don't want to be spoiled, go read it and come back!

“Baby,” Felix’s voice was up in his nasal range, near a whine. He’d been searching for Tony for twenty minutes. “Tone!”

“You lookin’ for someone, Pretty Boy?” The hushed voice came from startlingly close by.

Felix whipped around and found the older teen leaning against the building behind a steel generator box. “There you are.” Felix’s lips curled in a saucy grin. He held his hands one over the other flat in his lap, leaning forward and creeping towards Tony with sauntering shoulders.

Tony’s fingers abandoned his lit cigarette in the corner of his lips, his jaw flexing as he pulled in a puff. He turned his head, letting Felix’s lips catch his ear instead of the unoccupied side of his mouth.

The younger boy frowned, “You’re really angry with me, Tone?” His hands found the flat of Tony’s chest, thumbs pressing, massaging upward into the muscle.

“What do you think?” Tony finally snatched the cigarette from his lips and tilting his head up to look at his boyfriend fully.

Felix pursed his lips and turned his face away, eyes taking in a light pole nearby, moving up the length of it. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Felix scoffed and painted on a smile, pressing himself against Tony firmly, “I’m sorry, baby, let me make it up to you?” He squirmed against the older boy playfully.

“Felix!” Tony’s hands gripped his upper arms roughly, pushing some distance between their bodies.

“Oi!” Felix twisted out of Tony’s grasp. “Dick.”

Tony let out the breath he was holding, deflating with it, taking another drag and letting it out slowly. 

Felix brushed his bangs out of his eyes and shifted his weight around on his feet, crossing and uncrossing his ankles. His mess of gangly limbs, bony and awkward in his discomfort. “Why do you want to go to prom so badly anyway?”

“Why don’t you?” Tony snubbed his nose and took a long pull from his cigarette, “Because Sarah thinks its stupid?”

“No, not totally,” Felix pouted, kicking at the patchy mix of grass and packed mud at his feet before offering a meek reply, “I think it’s stupid too.”

Tony’s smoke billowed into the taller boy’s face and he waved it away dismissively. “I’ve never been to a dance, never joined a club, never played a sport. Grade thirteen is almost up and what do I got to show for myself? Huh?” He spread his arms wide, “I got nothin’. I ain’t even gonna graduate, and they’re not letting me back next year.” He sighed and dropped his arms back down to his sides, “Prom is all I got left.”

“It’s just a dumb dance, Tony, it doesn’t mean any—“

“Forget it,” Tony gruffed, “I thought you’d get it, I don’t know why I thought you could.”

Felix’s perfectly manicured brows arched high with incredulity, “This again?” His tone grew harsher, his hands moving with angry jabbing motions, “Is this where you tell me I’m just a child, that I couldn’t possibly comprehend how—“

“Stop it,” Tony’s voice was stern when he caught one of Felix’s flying hands in a bruising grip. And the boy did stop— immediately. The tension in Felix dropped and his shoulders went slack.

Felix pulled his hand free and reached for Tony’s cigarette, taking a drag himself before tossing it deeper into their hiding spot. He pressed closer to his boyfriend and whispered in his ear, “Let’s forget about this mess, yeah?” He shimmied his hips and tugged at Tony’s belt, deft fingers setting to work unbuckling it.

Tony’s jaw clenched and he brushed Felix’s hands away, “Knock it off.”

He huffed, leaning back against the green-painted steel of the generator box, “Fine, whatever.”

“I need more than this, Fee. I need more than blow jobs and rough sex and poppers and blow.”

Felix scoffed, “Yeah, you’ve got it so tough, haven’t you? Such an awful relationship. I’m such a terrible boyfriend for sucking you off all the time!”

“I want something serious, Felix!” Tony’s voice was pleading, “Don’t you? Isn’t this all getting old?”

“I don’t want serious, Tony, I want to have fun,” the taller boy fingered his bangs out of his eyes and threw Tony a haughty look, his chin held high.

Tony shook his head, shoving Felix back against the generator, “You’re so full of shit. You love me and it scares the shit out of you.”

Felix crossed his arms tightly, refusing eye contact. He forced his lips into a smile, a laugh parting them with its width to hide the strength it took to swallow whatever was caught in his throat, “Oh, you’re hilarious— really you are.” After a few moments of silence he turned and pushed pas the older boy until he was striding into the sunlight.

A loud bang echoed behind him as the side of Tony’s fist slammed into the generator box, “Yeah, keep fucking running, Cinderella!”

Felix spun sharply, “Cinderella? Cute! And what does that make you, Prince Charming?!” He laughed loudly, mockingly, “That’s really sweet, Tony. For someone so interested in fairy tales you’re sure up my ass about being childish!”

“You need to grow the fuck up and—“

“Do not even start with me!” His shout kicked up an octave, “You’re so big and bad with your two-and-a-half whole extra years of wisdom, you just love looming that shite over my head like I’m some toddler in a play pen.”

Tony took a few steps forward, standing on the edge of the shadow created by the building, fists balled at his sides, “I wouldn’t treat you like one if you didn’t act like it all the damn time!”

“One of us has to have a little fun in this relationship!”

Tony dug into his pockets and pulled out the two prom tickets he’d purchased that morning, “What fucking relationship?!” He threw them with all of his strength and turned away.

They didn’t make it far, catching with the breeze and fluttering to the ground like feathers from a bird shot out of sky. One skittered across the ground, side-over-side until it stilled against the toe of Felix’s shoe. His nearly black eyes fell to the thing, such a small slip of card-stock, just perforated paper and printed ink. He glanced up at Tony’s back, heaving with heavy breaths. The other ticket caught with the next gust, threatening to blow right past him. He thrust out a foot, stepping on it. “Are you breaking up with me?” He asked, eyeing the tickets he’d caught against the concrete.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Tony’s voice was quiet, strained.

Felix squatted and picked up the pieces of their relationship, lost and discarded in an angry burst. He held them between his fingers, brushing against the ink with the pad of his thumb— May, 7th.

“Tony?”

“What?”

Felix held the things tighter, pinching them, he swallowed. “I’m not ready to grow up.”

Tony sniffled, his back still turned toward the taller boy. “Yeah, Fee, I got that.”

He stood slowly and walked forward until the warm sun turned to cool shade and Tony was only a pace away, his shoulders were hunched high like he was holding a breath on the inhale. “You don’t want to do this,” he whispered, slowly closing the gap between them.

The air rushed from Tony’s lungs when Felix finally pressed against his back and glided plush lips up the column of his neck. “Its done.”

“No it’s not,” Felix whispered into his ear, tucking the tickets into Tony’s back pocket, “it’s not.”

Tony sighed, his eyes sliding closed when the taller teen’s lips closed around his earlobe and his long arms circled around him. “Felix,” he breathed, “this isn’t working.”

“It is.” He slipped a hands under the hem of Tony’s thermal henley, his long fingers playing along Tony’s soft stomach, tracing the light trail of hair down to his waistband. “Tell me we’re working.”

Tony moved to turn in Felix’s arms, “Felix—”

But the teen had lightning reflexes, hands coming up to catch his shoulders and hold him firmly in place, “No, Tony, say it.” Felix dropped and arm down to hold the older boy around the waist, his other hand undoing the last button on the henley and dipping below the collar, splaying out across Tony’s sternum.

The shorter boy sighed, leaning his weight back into Felix, his eyes closing, head turning and jaw tilting until he caught the underside of Felix’s chin with his lips, “We’re working, Cinderella. We’re always working.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote several iterations of this one-shot, it was not an easy one to write. These two have a really unhealthy relationship (and they're not the only ones). I hope it came across in the writing that this is a cycle they go through. This isn't the first time they've been here.
> 
> I'm going to talk more about this one-shot in a tumblr post, because there is nothing worse than sugarcoating unhealthy relationships. Though I write a lot of them, I'm certainly always going to be the first to call the characters' behavior out as dangerous. If you're interested in Cable Car AU Felony feel free to hop over and read my thoughts.


	8. Zeno's Flip-Book and Non-Euclidean Putt-Putt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane: "can you write another Cophine, like their first date,who asked whom?"
> 
> eskimo_pie: "More Cophine, yes please :)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers here, just a little short bit of fluffy baby Cophine to make us all feel better after yesterday's Felony angst.

Cosima’s eyes left the murky brown liquid swirling in the bottom of her Solo cup to rest on Delphine’s face, on the mole just under her lip, on it’s tiny siblings dotted across her skin. She raised a hand to her forehead, pressing her palm against it and letting out a breath.

“Time is made up of moments, yes? Nothing but seconds in a minute, tiny moments. The idea is that, essentially, motion doesn’t exist— not as we imagine it.” The blonde held her cup tightly between her knees, it had been empty for a while, “An arrow fired from a bow must move forward, but every instant that you look at it, in every moment in time, it’s occupying a single space— an arrow-shaped space, just its size.”

She leaned into Delphine’s shoulder, her lips brushing against the thin fabric of the blonde’s shirt. She wanted to kiss her again. It seemed all Cosima ever wanted to do was kiss Delphine. Three days prior they were debating heatedly over an equation in their Chemistry textbook when a summer’s worth of tension broke. Cosima leaned across the distance to stop Delphine’s agitated babbling with a soft kiss quickly turned frantic. Less than a week after the start of their junior year and they had lips pressed tight. Delphine had pushed the book away desperately, pulling Cosima onto her lap without regard for who was watching. They’d scandalized the librarian with brushing tongues, certainly.

And now, at Sarah’s start-of-year party, Cosima couldn’t tear her eyes away from Delphine’s mouth. Her tongue darting out subconsciously each time Delphine wet her lips. Her accent hadn’t faded much over the summer, but Cosima’s ears had trained to better understand the girl, “If it is in a single place, just its size, it cannot be moving. It is stationary, suspended in air until you blink.” Her lips curled, “Then it is a fraction further on it’s journey, but still in a single place, yes? An arrow-shaped place, just its size. Every moment it is just a fraction further,” she shrugged as if it made perfect sense.

Which it did, to Cosima, but not to Sarah who was looking at Delphine like she’d grown an extra head. Delphine was the smartest girl Cosima had ever met, but she didn’t have an idiot switch. Not saying that Sarah was an idiot, of course, just that sometimes she needed things explained a bit slower. “Think of it as a flip-book,” Cosima shrugged, offering her hands, palms up, “every page, when you look at them separately shows a stationary arrow.”

Delphine smiled and leaned into her, grinning from ear to ear, “Exactament!” Her voice rose in pitch as her eagerness grew, latching onto the layman’s explanation, “Every moment in time is just a page in a flip-book. Motion is an illusion seen through the passage of time.”

“Yeahhhh,” Sarah stood, “I need another drink.”

While the punk found her way into the kitchen, Delphine’s attention turned fully to Cosima. “Thank you for your help explaining that.”

The brunette smiled and nodded, “Sure, no probs, whatever.” Painted fingers came out to tug gently on a twist of her hair, tightly rolled and waxed. “Hey, Delphine?”

“Hmm?” Her grip on Cosima’s young dread loosened, hand dropping to rest on Cosima’s lap, wrist draped against her thigh.

“Do you want to, like…get out of here?”

Delphine laughed, “Right now?”

Cosima shifted against the couch. “Yeah.”

She squeezed Cosima’s knee gently, “It’s ten-thirty, where are we going to go?”

Cosima shrugged and smiled, locked onto Delphine’s hazel eyes, “I don’t care, somewhere else.”

They giggled all the way out of the house, slipping past party-goers and dodging Sarah. “This is a very bad idea,” Delphine whispered as they clambered into Tony’s car.

“Shh, he’s passed out in one of the rooms upstairs, he won’t even notice we’re gone.”

“You don’t have a license!”

Cosima’s tongue poked from between her teeth, “Yeah, but I still know how to drive. Com’on, get your phone out, find someplace.”

***

“It’s not flat, your angles are off! But nice try, I see what you’re trying to do.” Cosima’s hands were like magnets to Delphine’s hips as the taller girl nearly collapsed with laughter. They’d found a 24-hour glow-in-the-dark mini golf course in East York. The place was run down and barely hanging on, but neither of the teens seemed to mind. “You have to think more… non-Euclidean.” She wiggled her arms— loosey goosey.

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you get it in!” Delphine laughed and handed Cosima the small plastic putter.

Cosima’s eyebrows danced on her forehead and she rolled her shoulders, “Prepare to get owned.”

Cosima had only swallowed a few mouthfuls of Sarah’s darkly-colored concoction, but Delphine had drank at least two cups of the stuff and was clearly pleasantly buzzed. She leaned her weight on Cosima and giggled in her ear.

Her shot was horribly off the mark and Delphine snatched the dinky club away from her. “That’s what I thought. You with your non-Euclidean nonsense. You are so focused on biology that you have no room for geometry up here,” she tapped Cosima’s skull, “I was close the last time.” She bent at the waist and lined up her shot. 

"It's like you have no depth perception."

The blonde straightened, mumbling, “I do better with billiards,” she bit her smile.

“That makes two of us,” Cosima chuckled, taking the offered putter.

“Cosima?”

The brunette glanced up from the ball to find Delphine leaning back against a giant red toadstool decoration, “Yeah?”

“You are so beautiful.”

She blushed and looked back down at the turf, “Uh, thanks,” she tried to imagine the lines of angles she’d need to run the ball along. “You’re pretty gorgeous yourself.” She straightened her glasses and took the shot, managing a successful hole-in-one.


	9. For Dearest Dryily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dryily: “a flashback of Ali watching Beth play, like before they met, and in the same oneshot their meeting from Ali's POV.”
> 
> I mentioned that the ‘watching Beth play’ part would be dealt with in a separate one-shot, and it will (probably around chapter 16). This one-shot kind of got out of hand. Dryily, buddy, I know all you wanted was Ali’s perspective in the gym scene, but I know you’ve been thinking about the Ali/Rachel dynamic and I wanted to give you some of it, just to see what you think. You know I love those two uptight cuties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll notice (painfully, I'm sure) that these first few paragraphs are in a different tense and POV than the rest of the one-shot. That’s because they were actually the beginning of the first draft of Cable Car. This is how the fic was going to open before I realized I wanted it to be focused on Beth (and be in past tense). It seemed like a fun ‘in process’ thing to share with you guys, so I’m tacking it on the front of this one-shot.
> 
> This one-shot has spoilers up to chapter 6 of the HSAU Cable Car. If you haven’t read it yet and don’t want to be spoiled, then go read it now and come back.

Alison Hendrix wakes up at 5:30 every morning. Groggy and with sleep still crusting her eyes, she walks down the stairs of her parents’ suburban home to quietly pad barefoot through the kitchen. She flips the light switch.

Alison Hendrix eats the same thing every morning, one banana and one english muffin.

While her breakfast toasts she climbs back up to her room, skipping the creaky third step. She pulls her gym bag from her closet and packs her school clothes before pulling a pair of pants and a hoody from her dresser. She likes basketball pants, the kinds that snap up the sides. She likes the way the crisp morning air breezes through the open spaces between the catches to cool the steam from her legs when she practices.

She slings her duffle bag over one shoulder and her book-ladened backpack over the other. She creeps back down to the kitchen, careful not to bang her bags against the walls as she, once again, avoids the third stair from the bottom. Her parents still have an hour and a half of peaceful sleep before their alarm goes off.

Alison Hendrix’s mouth alternates between bites of breakfast and bites of the end of her pen while she double checks homework she’d completed the night before. When she's satisfied, belly and mind, she repacks her school bag and tidies the kitchen.

Alison Hendrix drives a clunker, it sputters and coughs all the way to school. She parks by the soccer pitch and fishes her ball and duffle bag from the truck, shutting the heavy steel lid and locking it manually.

She manages to get in an hour of drills each morning. Alison Hendrix has been playing soccer since she could run, she is one of the best on East Toronto High’s varsity team, but she still puts in time outside of practice. She has to be her best. She always has to be her best. She isn’t the only one.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Rachel met me on the field. She picked my gym bag up from the sideline, her matching bag slung over her shoulder; they were Christmas gifts from her father, from several years ago. “Good morning,” she was succinct, but courteous enough— her usual self, it seemed. I offered a smile and she returned it, though her lips were pressed tight in a hard line. Rachel doesn’t like to smile unless there is reason to, but sometimes I like to test the waters. She lifted my bag slightly, “I thought we could have a gym day instead,” she turned her head towards the school in the distance. “You didn’t respond to my text.”

“Oh,” I flicked the ball in the air and caught it, running a hand along my head, smoothing my hair straight back to the ponytail, “yeah, sorry. It’s in my bag.”

She hummed and stood there for a few beats, “So, the gym?”

I nodded, “Your leg?”

“No.” She turned from me and carried both of our bags back to her car. Oh, good, it was going to be one of those days; she was an awful liar. I took a deep breath and jogged to catch up.

***

Our backs were pressed together, hers arched over mine as I curled down into my lap. Then she pulled forward, curled inward, and stretched my arms backwards over her shoulders, I could feel the muscles of my stomach and sides ease after a beat of the gentle pull. She untangled our fingers and sat up straight, lifting me up with her.

“Lay down,” I said quietly, because the space around us was so silent and I was worried that speaking any louder might shatter something in the air.

I could feel her take in a breath and let it out before she spun away from me. I moved onto my knees and turned to find her flat on her back. I rested my weight on her shoulder and took her left knee, crossing it over towards her hip. I held it there for several seconds before I pressed my thumb against the outside of her knee and felt her shoulder tense under my hand. I eased the pressure and pulled her left knee upward and outward, she opened her hip and let me push her foot up across her until her ankle was over her opposite thigh. I pulled her knee up her body, pressing her leg toward her chest until her calf nearly touched it. She gritted her teeth. “Relax, Rachel,” I muttered, using the knuckles of a fist to press deeply into the outside of her thigh.

“Enough,” she hissed aggressively, straightening her leg and dropping it back down to the ground. She just lay there fuming for several silent beats.

I sat back on my heels, resting my hands on my hips. “One more?” I asked. She glared up at me and I shrugged, “Or we could work out.”

She didn’t make a move to stand so I smiled and tapped her hip. She rolled onto her right side, facing away from me, tucking her forearms under her head as a pillow. I settled behind her hips and she pulled her left foot up behind her, I caught it and brought it in front of me slowly until her heel was touching her butt. I rested my free hand on her hip and slid it down her thigh, leaning more of my weight into it until I reached her knee. “Okay?” Her bob jerked in a short nod, but she still hadn’t released the breath she’d drawn in at the start of the stretch. She was an awful liar.

***

“Elizabeth Childs is in my calculus class.” Her voice grated, she was annoyed.

“Hmm?” I looked up from my English textbook. She hadn’t found her way to her seat yet, but she was hovering over mine.

She reached out and snatched the pastry out of my hand, tossed it in the trash can. “Elizabeth. Childs.”

The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it, my brows came together. She looked at me expectantly. “Like, the soccer player?”

“Yes, ‘ _like the soccer player_ ’.” Rachel hissed, finally sitting.

“Why is she transferring schools? Isn’t she from Ottawa or something?” I turned to face her.

She was seething, “Montreal. The car accident? I texted you about this weeks ago.”

She had, I’d nearly forgotten, “Why did she leave Montreal, through, I thought you said she wasn’t hurt?”

“Yes, _she_ wasn’t.” She let out a barely controlled breath, shifting to sit forward in her chair, tilting her head and tapping her notebook with the tip of her pen. I recognized the movements, she was thinking— like, THINKING, the way that only Rachel could. She told me once that she just sees the whole pitch, that she feels it, where each player will be, like pins dropped on a map. “She’s broken the code of conduct for the U-17s, she’ll be floating without a team.” I was about to speak when she turned her head, as if seeing me for the first time, “Alison, I need you to focus on the situation at hand.”

I could tell by the agitated twitch of her shoulders that I should know what ‘the situation at hand’ was, and that I should already know my part in it. “You don’t want her on the team.” I spoke slowly, I was sure that I was correct, but if I wasn’t there would be hell to pay.

“Of course not, we’ve got enough seniors trying to get into decent schools. The last thing we need is one more player demanding time on the pitch.”

“One more _good_ player.” Her eyes could have cut me to the bone, I shifted in my seat, “We could have a really amazing season with her on our side.”

She turned her face back to the front of the classroom, “We’ll have an amazing season without her.” She inhaled deeply through her nose, “You and I are my number one priority, Alison. Always.”

I nodded, she was right. Our last season, our last shot.

***

Rachel and I usually met outside the auditorium before lunch, but she wasn’t there. I waited until the last student left. As it turned out, I did recognize Elizabeth Childs. Immediately, actually. My breath caught in my throat when her forearm held the closing door and she slid through the opening. She had a bunch of rubbery camp bracelets, red or white or a mix of the colors, covering her wrist. I dipped out of sight behind a pillar, my fingers finding my bare wrist; Rachel and I each had one, but her father had taken them and put them in a shadow box that was hanging in his garage.

I shifted around the pillar to see her, she had a pen tangled between her fingers and was running them through her hair. It was sort of wavy and out of hand, her knuckles and the pen were catching in tangles. She pulled a hair elastic off of her wrist and held it between her teeth, straightening out her hair and pulling it back into a ponytail. My hands darted up to tighten my own. She was beautiful. I blinked and leaned forward, trying to keep sight of her through the mass of students but she was gone as fast as she’d came.

I took a deep breath. Rachel. She must have skipped study hall. That could only mean one thing.

***

“Rachel Duncan!” To say I was angry with her may have been an understatement.

She was standing in the middle of the pitch, her practice gear on and sticking to her, she was breathing heavily, fists resting on her hips. My shout caught her attention and she turned her head to look at me.

“What on Earth are you doing?!” I marched out onto the field, towards her. She wasn’t moving, though I wasn’t surprised.

She straightened her hair, avoiding eye contact, “I was running drills.”

“You’re not running drills now.” I said, my voice softening the closer I got. Her face was red, she’d been crying.

“No, I’m not.” She turned her head, her voice shaking with rage.

I finally reached her side, hoisting her arm over my shoulder without ceremony, “How long have you been standing here?” She shifted her weight to her right leg and let me support her while we hobbled to the sidelines.

She was quiet, caught. “Not long. I was just about to move.”

“If you’re not careful you’re going to seriously hurt yourself. What were you thinking?” She didn’t answer, she didn’t have to— she hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. “Is this about Elizabeth Childs?”

“Of course not, don’t make me laugh.” A truly awful liar.

I sighed. “Come on, I had a feeling I find you down here so I brought the car.” It took a few minutes to hop over to my station wagon. I drove around to the back of the school, parking in the small lot by the gym. “We’re missing lunch because of you, I hope you’re happy.” I grunted and lifted her weight.

“You’ll be fine, I promise.” She was straining with effort as well, but soon we had her out of the car and she managed to support herself on both legs, shoving my hands aside. She took slow steps.

The gym was empty, thankfully, I held the door for her and then ran ahead to the athletic trainer’s office. It was right off the gym, down a hallway behind the locker rooms, I propped the door open with a wooden block and turned to open the ice chest. Thankfully it was full, I grabbed a bucket and started emptying it into the big white ice bath.

By the time Rachel rounded the door frame, leaning against it, I’d nearly filled the tub. “Are you ready?” I grinned over at her. I liked ice baths, Rachel hated them. She was less than amused.

“Never.” Her voice held no hint of jest, but she took steady steps forward. She looked like she could have jumped in by herself, but she didn’t object when I pulled her arm around my neck and lifted her until her hip slid up onto the edge.

I let go of her and pulled off her shoes and swung her legs over the side of the tub. “In you go.”

She glared at me, but slowly lowered herself into the ice, hissing air through her teeth as she descended, fully-clothed. “Did you get the training schedule for next week?” She asked, once she’d settled to the bottom.

“Yeah,” I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through to my emails, hopping up on a nearby massage table. “You want to book time on the track?” I looked down at her, incredulous.

She sighed, her hand dipping beneath the icy water to press her fist into her thigh, “Not anymore.”

I nodded and closed the email, opening up my notes instead, “That was kind of the whole schedule, track all week, with some drills and a practice game. There is a lot of shifting around to do.”

“Still book the track for Friday. The rest of the week we’ll work on the pitch. I’d like to get everyone in for strength testing as well— Sheila says she’s keeping up on weight training… we’ll see.”

I scoffed, “She’s been losing muscle for months.”

She hummed in affirmation, shifting in the bath, ice clattering around, “If she’s not the only one declining we’ll have to start including weight training in our normal practices.”

“It’ll add half an hour to practice, the girls are going to be angry.”

Rachel looked up at me with a bored expression, “I don’t care. They’ve been told to keep up with their strength training. If they’re not doing it, I’ll make them do it.”

I nodded, typing up a rough schedule for the week on my phone.

The bell rang.

“Are you going to—“

“I’ll go home when I’m done here.” She looked down at the ice water, “I have a change of clothes in my locker.”

I slid off the massage table and made for the door, “I’ll print out the new schedule after class, I’ve got gym.” I jerked my head back towards the gym.

“That’s acceptable.” She gripped the sides of the tub and started to lift herself.

I glanced at the clock and tutted, “No, five more minutes.”

Her eyes were daggers on mine, but I spun away, power-walking down the hall and away from her death-glare.

***

Elizabeth Childs also had gym right after lunch. I could feel my mouth drying, actually, physically drying. I pulled my uniform on quickly, trying not to gawk at her muscular back in the locker room (that’s kind of unacceptable), and found my way to the water fountain. I took enough gulps to make myself momentarily queasy and as I bounced on the balls of my feet I could feel the liquid slosh around in my stomach. All the better to drown the butterflies.

Elizabeth Childs was going to be a problem. Rachel was already overcompensating, pressured by her mere presence, but there she was, just standing there— her arm linked with Sarah Manning’s. I ran my hands down my face. This was bad news. When Rachel found out she would blow a gasket.

I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was untangling herself from the filthy teen and Sarah was wrestling with that terrifying twin sister of hers. Those girls were bad news…Elizabeth was falling in with the wrong crowd, certainly.

Riley’s whistle blew sharply and she pointed her finger at me, pointed a finger at Elizabeth and drew them together. Elizabeth Childs was going to be a problem in more ways then one, I felt my heart kick up. I smiled and closed the distance between us, holding out my hand in greeting. “Alison Hendrix.” I smiled. I didn’t want to smile, I mean, I did— I had intended to smile politely— but her lips curled in a crooked grin and my mouth split open wide and I couldn’t help it. Her hand was hot, not warm, but hot. It wasn’t unpleasantly sweaty, but it was very hot, like she ran at some abnormally high temperature.

“Beth Childs.” She’d said.

Beth. Beth Childs. I blinked a few times and nodded. Beth. Beth. Beth Childs.

We had warm ups. I laid down to start and she spotted me through my sit ups. She had deep brown eyes, like dark chocolate, like you could barely tell they were brown— but when the overhead lights caught them you could see them, see how brown they were. She was distracted, but that’s okay, because if I was being honest I was totally staring at her and it would have been pretty embarrassing if she’d caught me. I closed my eyes tightly to stop myself.

“How is your first day, Beth?” Beth Beth Beth. I don’t know what came over me, why I was talking to her. My mother always told me it was important to be polite, but Rachel would certainly not approve of me trying to strike up a friendship with the girl. I opened my eyes, she was looking right at me. I fumbled in my motion and barely made it to my knees. She smiled and I thought the ceiling was crashing down on me. I fell back and flung my hands up over my head, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. How could one girl be so gorgeous?

“Switch!” The whistle blew again.

I was staring at her again, I couldn’t help it. I held my fingers tight against her ankles, pushing weight down on her feet. I watched her lift herself up, curling closer to my face and then dropping back, and then closer again, I swallowed. The time passed too quickly.

She matched pace with me when we fell into push ups, when I sped up so did she, so I sped up some more. She increased her speed again, I glanced up to look at her and she was laughing, her tongue was sticking out, and she was just pounding her chest away from the ground. I couldn’t help the laugh that broke from my throat.

We both dropped to the floor when the whistle blew. I rolled over, nearly knocking heads with her, I could feel her shoulder against the top of my head. How did we end up so close to each other? Her cheek was so close to mine, but she was laughing so hard, so I just laughed too. “We shouldn’t have done that.” I said, trying to catch my breath.

She pressed her shoulders into the ground and turned her head to look at me, “Why is that?”

My breath locked in my chest at the same time that we locked eyes, “Burpees.” I whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rachel has iliotibial band syndrome. Part of the reason I was hesitant about posting this now and not later is that it does come up later in the main story. I started thinking about it though, and Beth’s discovery of the injury really has no baring on the story itself. So, why not, ya know?


	10. Matchmaker, Matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dryily: "As for Alison and Felix, I'm pretty sure you knew I'd beg you to write a one-shot about Alison asking him all those questions about Beth, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot takes place during chapter 5 of Cable Car, at the same time that Beth and Sarah are talking about Helena in the commons.

Felix glanced over his shoulder, fishing around with long digits until they closed around the pill that had nestled in the corner of the small half-pocket of his hip-huggers. He slipped it between his teeth and dipped low to suck in a mouthful of water from the fountain.

“Felix.”

He jumped, swallowing harshly and coughing against the water catching in his windpipe. “Holy Tilda Swinton!” He spun to find Alison behind him, arms crossed and hips tilted. “Alison, don’t sneak up on me—“

“You had a very traumatic childhood, yes, you’ve mentioned.” She tugged on an earlobe, “I can imagine, with those sisters of yours.”

He turned and took another drink of water. He could feel her eyes burrowing into his back. He pulled in another mouthful and rolled his eyes, “Did you need something, Princess?”

She was quiet for several beats so he held his hands up expectantly. When she didn’t say anything else he brushed past her, walking back towards the stage. “Felix, wait!” He stopped and she trotted up to his side. “You’re friends with Beth, right? Beth Childs?”

His dark eyes narrowed, “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

She shifted uncomfortably, reaching up to tighten her already impossibly tight ponytail, “I was just wondering.”

He stood there in the following silence, waiting for her to continue. She didn’t. “You are so fucking strange,” he shook his head and took a step away but she circled him quickly, her hands finding his chest.

“Stop, I’m sorry. I just…”

He threw up his hands, “Will you just say what you need to say? Cal and I are running lines.”

“What’s she like?”

He’d forgotten what they were talking about, “What? Who? Beth?!”

Her head jerked around looking for anyone who may be watching them. “Yes, Beth,” she hissed, “what is she like?”

“She’s normal, what the fuck are you going on about?”

Alison sighed and crossed her arms. She looked down at her shoes and shifted her weight back and forth.

“Oh. Oh!” He blinked, his eyes slowly widening, jaw slowly dropping as realization dawned over him. “Does Alison Hendrix have a crush on the new girl?!”

She reached up to cover his mouth, “Yes, yes, now hush.”

Felix was shimmying, “Oh this is just priceless!”

“Felix!” Alison’s hands hid her flushed face, “Could you please not. Please?”

He stopped his wiggling dance, pouting. “Fine. You’re no fun.”

“So can you help me?” She peeked out from behind her fingers, “Can you… I don’t know, be my inside man?”

He cocked his hip and rested his weight. “I suppose I could help you. Matchmaker is always fun.” He was quiet, thinking, a finger coming up to tap against his pillowy lips. “Does she know?”

“Of course not!” Alison whispered sharply. “I don’t even know how to talk to her. I see her and I just… my mouth stops working!”

He let out a gleeful giggle, “Well that is the exact opposite of what you want!” He snapped his teeth and growled playfully.

Alison huffed, tightened her arms across her chest, “Will you please stop teasing me and try and give me some productive advice?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, Alison, I don’t have problems talking to boys. You should just ask her out.”

Her eyes widened, “Ask her out! Don’t you think that’s a little serious?”

Felix’s eyebrows came together, “Uh, no. Isn’t that what you want?” She just sighed. He sighed as well and shook his head, “You’re not going to get anywhere without a little flirting, darling.”

“I don’t know how to flirt, that’s the problem.”

He rolled his eyes, “How did you get your last girlfriend?”

“I’ve never had a girlfriend before!”

His lips formed a surprised ‘o’. “That is a whole other problem.” Felix’s hands waved over her body, “You are a fucking disaster.”

She let out an anxious whine, “Can you help me or not?”

A slow smile spread over his face, “What if I threw a party? You can both come, a nice relaxing evening, we’ll get some party favors in you,” he gripped her shoulders, shaking them until her arms fell to her sides, “loosen you up a bit.” He nodded, the plan coming together in his head. “In the meantime you need to find out if she’s interested.”

“Can’t you do that for me?” Her voice was mouse-like.

Felix twisted his lips, “Maybe, but you really should just ask her out. If she says yes that’ll solve all your problems.”

“But if she says no it’s all over!” It was the simplest concept in the world, she nearly beat him over the head with it.

He laughed, “Oh honey, no. If she turns you down it just means we have a little more work to do.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix planned the party as a means of getting Beth and Ali together, too cute. Of course, if you're up to date on CC you know that it doesn't end up being necessary. Still, it's good to see Felix stepping up to help a sister out.


	11. CC Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This one-shot contains explicit, aggressive, violent sex between two consenting participants. Hatesex is hatesex, rough, pushing, shoving, biting, spitting, the whole shebang. If that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable in anyway, please hit that back button on your browser and don’t read this chapter. Trigger warnings are serious business and panic attacks are fun for no one. If that thing turns you on... read ahead, friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from the hatesex, this one-shot also contains spoilers for chapter 10 of Cable Car, go read that first if you don't want to miss out.

I chew the ends of my pens. Truthfully, I’d been trying to break the habit for years. I had a lot on my mind, cross-legged on my bed, when I felt the cap of my ballpoint give under an eyetooth. The football practice schedule as well as several classes worth of school work were spread out around me on the duvet, and I just sat there and gnawed like an animal on the forgiving plastic.

Elizabeth Childs was likely to be a problem. Though, more worrisome than her presence alone was Alison’s painfully obvious attraction to the girl. And _of course_ , the new wretch fell in with Sarah and her rag-tag band of Little Orphan Annies. I grunted and spat the cap from my mouth. I wasn’t getting any work done and the clock was reading 11pm, so I stood, gathered my books, and set them aside. My fingers found the light switch and my room plunged into darkness.

Still she haunted me, her face a bright smile in the blackness above my bed. I’d nearly forgotten she was there— nearly. I’ve never been one to stand on the mattress, as a matter of fact, this was only the second time I’d found myself shifting my weight over the wobbly springs; the first was to hang the damn thing. My fingers found the edge of the poster, tacked carefully along the corners. I pulled the first tack out, knelt and ran my hand down to find the second, but my palm rested solidly against her chest— the bottom row, right in the center. I could make out the whites of her teeth, surrounded by a sea of smiles. Her team— _her team_. Could have been _my team_. Should have been _my team_. My fingers reach out to trace along the tight elastic wrapped around her left bicep where it’s thrown over Nadya Gill (#9, striker, aged 15 in this picture, she must be nearly 17 now). It’s white, the armband, it’s identical to the one I wear on game days— with navy blue stitching ‘CAPTAIN’, but it doesn’t quite mean the same, does it? I can feel the anger mounting. So easy to throw it all away, Elizabeth? My fingers twitch and nails, painted shining silver like the cup glistening between her knees, dig into the paper. I savor it as if it were her flesh, I wonder if her muscles give easier than the drywall. I’m certain they do.

I pride myself on composure, so I was more than a bit off-put by the scattering of tacks across my bed when I ripped the thing from the wall, I felt them roll into the dips caused by my weight, knocking their tiny points into my arches and the sides of my toes. The whole team is being crushed, fists balling around their faces, fingernails digging into their maple-leaf-red kits, their pulled-back hair, their fresh green pitch, their ignorant, insolent smiles. Could have been _my team_. If I could only identify the missed opportunity, what was it that put her ahead of me? A missed practice, a lost game?

A knock at the window shook me from my rage, drew me by the pit of my stomach. I jumped to the floor, pressed the ruined poster under my bed with clumsy fists.

My visitor— she is always just a calculated leap from the ground to a trash can, a stretch and a confident jump to grab the shingles with forever-blemished knuckles, kicking boots against the perfect white siding (I’d find smudges there in the morning). On nights like these she would pull herself up to the second floor, to my window. I glanced in the darkened mirror, sightlessly combing stray hairs into place before drawing up the blinds.

She was a bruise, black and blue as the night sky and just as beautiful. Her eyes were twin stars and I was the planet orbiting them, just praying that gravity didn’t pull me too close to one or the other. She pushed her hood back and her wild hair caught with the breeze. She had a hint of a smirk on her lips, only partially formed, mostly grimace, like she hated herself for being there just as I did. I flipped the latch and slid the window open, her hand cupped the bottom as soon as there was adequate room and she added her strength to help push it up.

“What are you doing here, Sarah?” My voice was as bitter as I could manage, throat still tight from my momentary outburst.

Her mouth opened, silent, and her eyes dropped ever so slightly before coming back up to meet mine. She didn’t have an answer, she never did. I blinked at her and turned, striding deeper into the room. I could hear her follow, feet first— boots heavy on the sill.

My eyelids fluttered closed, I swallowed, “You haven’t come ‘round in some time.”

Her voice was gravely, the way it was at night— so different in the darkness. “Are you disappointed?”

I spun to face her, we were the same hight without heels, I suddenly missed them. “That you haven’t visited, or that you’re here now?”

I’d expected her eyes to be trained on me, but they weren’t. She was shrugging out of her leather jacket and hoody, eyes cast down and to the right— to my bed, where she threw the tangle of jackets. I clenched my jaw hard, bit my tongue, anything to erase the summersaulting between my hips. I huffed air though my nose, and she looked up at the sound— her eyes were indistinguishable so far away from the faint moonlight that trailed through the window.

“You’re not wearing any make up,” she said, taking a step closer. Her hands grasped the hem of her hole-ridden sweater and her arms uncrossed as she pulled it over her head, underneath she wore a plain white t-shirt— a size too small— her breasts strained against it. The sweater joined the rest of her clothes at the foot of my bed.

My own fingertips moved to my cheek, hot with anger. Insecurities sprang up under her attention, her head was cocked like she was scrutinizing my features. I felt suddenly bare and hated her for it. It had been so long since she’d visited that I’d become accustomed to cleaning my face for bed earlier in the evening.

Our eyes were locked and mine hadn’t quite adjusted to the darkness; I heard the fumble of her hand on my vanity, the clacking of nail polish bottles and thunking of lipstick tubes tumbling onto wood. She tore her gaze away to glance down at the shade she’d wrapped her fingers around, she put it back and grabbed another.

I felt the ember of rage burn hotter, angrier somehow knowing her eyes were able to read the fine print where mine could barely make out her features. She had the upper hand, a creature of the night, ever-adjusted to the blackness. My jaw clenched.

She found what she was looking for and swaggered closer, her eyes finding mine. She held up a tube of lipstick between two knuckles, thick and misshapen from poorly healed breaks. “Put it on,” she said, and she leaned her hip into my dresser. Her body invaded my personal space, a purposeful attack. I uncapped the tube and twisted it, my eyes were beginning to adjust but I didn’t need sight to know which shade she’d chosen— it was always the brightest red in my collection. Always. I’d told her the color one night, wrapped together on the roof during a quiet ceasefire (I didn’t tell her how strikingly similar to maple-leaf-red it was). The pad of her thumb had smudged it across my mouth and she’d asked, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. We fought later that night, it was all we knew how to do— it was almost all we knew how to do.

Her supernova eyes glued to my open mouth, following the stain tracing along my lips. And I could see her clearly now, her pink tongue darting out to wet lips— still torn where I’d caught her two weeks earlier. I wished I could recall what started the altercation but the memory was overshadowed by the feeling of her body thrashing against mine, the feeling of her thick hair bunched in my fist. Suddenly she was pushing off of my desk like a swimmer. Before I had even finished she was pulling the lipstick from my hand, tossing it back onto the dresser behind her. I knew it would be ruined, but her hands were already gripping my upper arms. She had her head tilted for a kiss, mouth open and tongue tracing the sharp of her teeth; when she paused, her face was still inches away, her eyes were studying my mouth. I could feel her breath against my cheek.

Her pause frustrated me, Sarah Manning frustrated me— the loss of control, the lack of command over my own body, her smug grin. I broke her strong grip, pushing her back towards the window. “You can’t just show up here whenever you’d like, Sarah.”

“You keep lettin’ me in.” She said, her forever-twisted spine bouncing off the window frame. “Come on,” entreating, and when she reached for me I imagined she ached the way I did. I imagined she loved me, somewhere under this furious dance we couldn’t seem to escape. It took her two steps to stand in front of me, her fingertips brushing my bare shoulders, tracing the edges of my singlet.

“Next time I won’t,” I say, angrier than I meant it. No, just as angry as I meant it. The swirl of conflict was constant in her presence, an enraging reminder of my betraying body. My hips were closing the distance to hers of their own accord, we fit together and she gripped my waist too tight. My blunt nails were magnets to her cheek, they dug in against her jaw, I could chip off the silver paint in her stone skin. She grunted at the pain, but pressed into it.

At least we always understood each other. I kissed her.

She was lifting me, somehow, with some superhuman strength that she only managed when her skin was burning under my fingers— never matter if it was with passion or rage. I bracketed her hips with my knees, an arm in the small of my back kept us held firm. She growled low, rumbling, mouth hungry, teeth biting. My body wasn’t the only traitor, I smirked into her mouth. I tilted into her stomach, ready since her boots hit the sill, finding little friction against my silk sleep bottoms.

I knew she’d felt it, my heat pressed against her, because she was shoving me. I barely had time to get my feet on the floor before I was falling backwards. I’d have hit the ground if my elbow didn’t catch the edge of my desk— it would bruise, certainly. Bruises never looked anything other than hideous on my flesh, not beautiful like they did on hers. “Feeling cheeky tonight, Duncan?” She cut, cold and empty as the blackness between.

Perhaps I was. I recovered quickly, unable to stand the sight of her towering over me. Eye-to-eye was better, jaws grit and hands pushing, grabbing, shoving, squeezing; we fought for purchase on each other’s arms, the bones of our fingertips nearly coming out of our skin. It was the same war, just another battle in the darkness of my bedroom.

Her strength was superior by far. Muscle won out and I found myself flung against the wall next to the window. She pushed into me, her body radiating heat. I could have spit in her face when she ground her knee into me, a clear message that she remembered our last encounter against this wall: She’d left me trembling and naked, withdrawing from me abruptly just as I’d peaked, pressing the heel of her palm once into my clit to push me over the edge. My knees had given out, I’d landed hard on the floor. And she’d just stood there, watching me orgasm at her feet while she sucked her fingers clean; she was gone before the aftershocks subsided.

It only made me hate her more— the way my hips bucked against her flexing thigh. I gripped her shoulders and pushed her hard, succeeding in shoving her back. Seizing the opportunity I stepped forward but she was quick in slamming me back into place, the wall shaking behind me. We stayed completely still, her forearm crossed against my chest, four ears straining. Had we woken my parents? Nearly a minute of dead silence later her lips twisted into a brutal smile.

Her arm held me fast, the other slipping between us, pushing under my waistband. Fingers, still cold from the night air, were like ice against the burning of my cunt, she tutted and slid them through the unforgivable amount of wetness she found. God, I hated her. “What do you have to say for yourself, Rachel? Hmm?” Her middle finger glided into me until I felt the rough callouses of her palm pressing against my clit. “You’re fucking dripping.” This time I did spit in her face. She pulled out of me to wipe her cheek with the back of her hand, looking down at the smear of saliva. “Fucking bitch,” she growled, stepping back, she looked almost wounded. A give. This was a delicate game.

I reached out and brushed against the spot with my fingertips and her eyes met mine. There was a moment of peace, one moment of unspoken apology before she turned and walked to my bed. She glanced over her shoulder and I followed. When her knees hit the mattress she stopped and I pressed against her back, arms winding around her. I slid a hand up her stomach, pulling her shirt up until my opposite hand felt the hot skin underneath. Red lips were reverent against the column of her neck and she pulled her hair over her shoulder in silent acceptance of my touch— such a delicate game. One hand reached back and held my hip, the other came to tangle in blonde at the nape of my neck. God, I thought, I could love her.

I tangled my fingers around the button of her faux-leather pants, the snake-skin texture of them was rough against my tingling skin. It was an easy maneuver, to pop the button free, and in the added space it afforded I pressed my hand lower— past the elastic of her underwear. She’d the nerve to mock my level of arousal despite her own sopping sex. I hated her, but her flesh was calling to me. We moaned in unison as my long fingers slid through her folds, knuckles brushing against either side of her clit. “Shite, Rachel,” she doubled forward until I caught her, pressing her torso back up and into mine.

“If you ever patronize me again, Sarah, I’ll do more than bruise your ego.” But bruises always looked so good on her. I pushed inside her with two fingers, curling around her pelvic bone. If I could’ve led her around that way, I would have— parading her about like the spoils of war. I tugged forward towards the bed experimentally and she made a noise I’d never heard before, something between a groan and a whimper, curling helplessly around my hand. I withdrew and she grunted, spinning in my arms before I’d even left the warmth of her tight pants, quietly twingeing the tendons in my wrist. Her lips found mine, crushing. She could love me.

Her teeth nipped at my tongue and I slid my hands up her ribcage, pulling her undershirt up with them; we broke apart to toss it aside. Her mouth found mine faster than I expected with a surge matched by her hands clenching my singlet, pulling me to her. She groaned as the ribbed fabric teased her nipples. “Do you ever wear a bra?” I whispered into the hollow of her mouth.

“Are you complaining?” She matched my tone, it was soft, almost kind.

“Never.” I sighed, hands coming up to cup her small breasts.

“S’what I thought.” She slipped below my shorts again to trail through my wetness. I could feel the animal come out of her again in the moment that her fingers met slick. If she’d ever forgotten our battle, the memories came back vivid. Her shoulders rolled into me, bearing down, and her teeth cut sharply against my lips.

I hissed and tightened my fingers around her nipples, pinching a warning. “Play nice, or this won’t end well for you.”

“It never does.” The gentleness was gone from her voice, just gruff and fire and hard fists. We were turning, and I was on the bed with a bounce. She loomed, and when I tried to stand she pushed me down with rough hands. She hated me, I’d nearly forgotten. 

Her body moving over mine forced me down. I felt the sharp of a tack against my elbow, shaking it out and brushing it off the edge of the mattress. She growled, impatient, “C’mon then.” I pushed myself back with my heels, feeling the springs strain under the pressure while she held the hem of my shorts. She looked down at them for a moment, rubbing her fingers over the smooth fabric with a smile. They were undoubtably catching against the rough knots of her palms— always so calloused from fighting, from working on that old truck of hers, from mowing lawns and falling against asphalt and scrubbing dirt from her face. Simply pedestrian. She tossed my shorts to the ground and turned her eyes to me. Her mouth was hot, her tongue hotter, against my sternum. She gripped the hem of my singlet and tugged it up, I lifted my torso, letting her pull it off. Her teeth found newly exposed cleavage, nipping harshly as she leaned over me, her fingers curled into the cups of my bra and pulled them down. She latched on swiftly, biting and swirling a nipple around the molten lava of her mouth.

I couldn’t help the moan that broke from my chest, it egged her on, I hated giving her the satisfaction. I twisted my hips, trying to knock her off balance but she gripped them firmly, bending a knee over mine to pin a thigh under her shin. It hurt, she hurt, biting roughly at the swell of my breast. I grunted and bucked harder but she was heavy over me. A pained hiss and she was fumbling with the duvet, a pulling a tack from her leg and throwing it into the void behind her. She pushed my free leg with the outside of her knee, spreading me wider. Her hand immediately found my painfully swollen clit, tweaking it almost playfully. She looked up at me with a smile and mischievous eyes. There was no malice, she loved me. I hated it.

“Are you here to joke or to get me off?” I growled, relief and satisfaction washed over me when her eyes darkened. She pushed into me. As aroused as I was, the tense spread of my legs left me too tight for her rough fingers— I winced at the pain. There was no pause, she twisted inside me spreading her digits, thrusting with the weight of her hips. The burn molded me and I dug my silver nails into her shoulders like they were glinting steel. The pain subsided after a few more rough thrusts and I moaned when she curled her fingers against my front wall. It was a wanton noise, and I regretted it immediately after hearing the chuckle it roused from her throat.

She pressed into the sensitive tissue harder, aiming her pounding fingertips with precision. My hips twisted against my will and she pinned them with her arm, leaning her weight against them. She picked up speed, merciless. I teetered on the edge, keening and pressing my painted lips together tightly to block the noise. She pulled up over me, still pumping her arm between my legs. She liked to watch me fight against my orgasm, she reveled in forcing me over the edge. I hated her. I mustered my strength and shoved her as hard as I could. She ripped from me, my eyelids fluttered at the unbearable pain of it (she was certain to have taken some pieces of me with her) but I was quick to sit up. 

She’d landed hard on her tailbone and the floor shook under her. Her eyes were full of fury, but she held her tongue while we listened to the quiet of the house settling. I slid from the bed, the carpet rough under my knees, and slinked up her body, between her thighs, closer and closer to that angry glare. I tutted my tongue, making my victory clear.

“Fuck you,” her mouth twisted, stained with my lipstick. When she lunged forward I thought it was to bash her thick skull into my nose, but she captured my snarl with hers.

I immediately moved to tug her pants down. She had to shimmy, but I managed to get them past her knees without breaking our kiss. She kicked the clothing lower, knocking off her boots, frustrated when her pants caught at her ankles. I stopped her from reaching for them, pushing her down and straddling her thigh. She struggled against me, but I dipped my head and sunk my teeth into her throat. She thrashed and I moaned, biting harder, a hand splaying against her trembling stomach and sliding lower. I was so close to winning this fight, I could taste it— could taste it with the give of her throat.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had her so wet, the last time she’d taken three fingers so quickly. I was rough with her, pounding until the webbing of my fingers was sore. She liked it this way. She came quickly, her shoulders still fought valiantly under me but her back arched until I had to unlock my jaw and release her. Her orgasm was silent, as it always was, her eyes rolled back and her whole body shook; her hips rutted with the aftershocks, her body pulsing off the ground, curling inward. I purred, the sweat on her chest tasted like victory. Her moan was quiet when she closed her trembling fingers around my wrist and pulled me, silently pleading, from still spasming walls.

She was pliable like this, panting under me, lashes fluttering against the heavy darkness. I loved her like this. All the anger drained out of her. Her eyes were closed and her body was liquid under me. She was spilt over, gentle as the quietest tide. I dropped to kiss her dry lips, softer than I ever had, I fought the urge to move lower, to do the same to her bruised sex. All thoughts of our war were gone here. “Are you alright?” I asked, surprising even myself.

She just grunted, but it sounded like a question. I loosed my wrist from her weak grasp, coming up to trace the angry wound I’d inflicted with wet fingers. She flinched— it wasn’t as satisfying as I’d hoped it would be. “What will Cal say?” I asked, mind foggy with thoughts of kissing her again, slow and rolling.

“Fuck off,” She groaned, flipping under me and lifting herself on wobbly arms. I turned my face from her as the hard edge began creeping back into her voice, “We broke up a month ago.” I knew that, I wondered why I’d even mentioned him— self-sabotage, perhaps. “What of Daniel, then?” She gritted, sitting on the ground and pulling the offending pants off of her foot. Her arms pushed through the legs, pulling them right-side-out. She glanced up at me when I didn’t immediately answer, her eyes were brutal. She hated me, the war had never ended, and I hated her for making me forget.

I swelled with bitterness. “Maybe I’ll call him to come finish the job you started,” I spat.

“Yeah, why don’t you fuckin’ do that then,” She grumbled and reached onto my bed, grabbing my phone and tossing it onto my lap. She slid her hands between her legs, cleaning herself with her ruined underwear and a wince before tugging her pants on. She dropped back onto her shoulder blades and lifted her slim hips to pull the resisting fabric over them. She grabbed for her boots.

And she was standing faster than I could reach for her, if I had reached for her— I couldn’t bring myself to. God, I hated her. When she turned her back and pulled her shirt on I let my eyes slide shut. I could hear her scoop her remaining clothes from the bed. Her boots on the sill, chipping at the paint. She skidded down the shingles until she reached the lip of the roof, a thud of her weight hitting the ground.

I pulled my knees under me and ran my hands down my face. Her scent flooded my senses. God, I loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, these two... I just don't even know what to do with them. What I do know how to do is talk about this unhealthy bullshit in depth over on tumblr. If you're one of the many people who pop in and read these but don't participate outside of that or go read my thoughts over on the blog-- make an exception just this one time. We should talk about Rachel and Sarah's motivations and thought processes. This one-shot isn't meant to be just fun smutty sex (though it is that), it's meant to be a glimpse into Rachel and Sarah's relationship.


	12. CC Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We got to see some of Cal in this latest chapter of Cable Car, he's adorable, isn't he? This is set in the past a bit, long before Beth showed up.
> 
> This one-shot contains spoilers for chapter 11 of the high school AU Cable Car. If you don't want to be spoiled, make sure you go read chapter 11 first.

Her chest was heaving, pink tongue darting out to wet her lips. Her hair whipped around her head with the wind, if I didn’t already have her features memorized I don’t think I would have recognized her. She leaned over the railing of the pier, spitting down into opaque green water. “This place is disgusting,” I heard her say, her accent trailing along with a strong gust. She turned nervously to look behind her.

Sirens kicked up in the distance, how far out they were, we’d never know; the wind that rocked the boat this way and that under my feet also knocked the screaming sirens around. Her frantic gaze turned my way, mascara clumped and eyeshadow smudged. She didn’t have to say anything, the fear in her eyes and the way her grip tightened on the strap of her bag said enough.

I squinted out onto the water, “They’d be hard pressed to find you out there,” I said, quiet, letting the wind deliver the message instead of shouting over it.

Her teeth were fumbling against her lip, she glanced over her shoulder, back the way she came. She was trying to remember my name. “Uh, C— ah…it’s Cal, yeah? You go to East?”

I nodded, dropping my gaze down to the deck. If I’m being honest, I’d made up my mind the second her mane of hair billowed over the wobbly wooden railing, but I wanted to hear her ask.

She walked cautiously down the stairs to the dock, less from distrust in her balanced steps, more from distrust in me. She kept her body tilted, never quite facing me. She toed the dock, nudging a fiberglass hull with her boot. Her head turned towards the sirens again. “You, uh, you going out?” She asked, gesturing vaguely to the expanse of Lake Ontario.

“I am,” I dropped to one knee to wrap up the tie ropes, the movements were like second nature.

She shifted, uncomfortable.

I looked up and met her gaze, the sirens were getting closer, “Do you need a lift?”

“I do, kind of, actually…yeah.” Her lips tugged, baring teeth in a grimace, “Do you mind?”

I shrugged and turned towards the console, fishing the key from my pocket. She was on and by my side before the engine turned. “Thanks,” she said, “I owe you one.”

My hand found the control, easing it forward as slowly as the smile spread across my face. “I can work with that.”

I was quick from the dock and we were out in the open before long, she had her eyes on the mainland the whole time. “I don’t think they’re going to follow us out here.” I said, glancing back at her.

She shuddered, tightening her leather jacket around her at the thought. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She turned to me, taking a few steps forward, her boots squeaking against the wet textured plastic beneath them. “My name’s Sarah, by the way.” She cocked her head and hip, offering a hand.

“Sarah Manning,” I nodded, taking her hand and shaking it briefly.

“Ah, you’ve heard of me then,” Her lips twisted with a smirk, breath laughing from her nostrils.

“Your reputation precedes you. I’m Cal Morrison.”

She sucked on her teeth and sat down on the misty leather bench, pulling her bag into her lap. “Well, Cal Morrison, what do they say about me?”

I sat too, in the chair in front of the console, spinning to look at her and kicking my feet out to cross at the ankle. Out in the open the boat could move at a slow cruise without my undivided attention, it was too windy for casual boaters today. Her eyes were hungry and full of good humor, I grinned, “Nothing good.”


	13. That Undercover Slip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: "So since things are gettin reeaaal heavy, you think we could get in some fluffy one shots to help lighten the mood a little bit? I mean, it's only fair :) Like who kissed who with Tony and Felix?"
> 
> No spoilers here, read away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this one-shot got OUT OF HAND. Sorry, Nobody, I know you just wanted some Felony fluff. My bad.
> 
> HAVE SOME TONY BACKSTORY.

Tony hadn’t been to The Pit in years, which is why he was both surprised and annoyed to find himself leaning back against the wall of the after-hours club, feeling the pulsing bass blast through his body, rattle his bones. The spinning lights caught in the smoke filling the dance floor, illuminating hazy swirls with multicolored flashes. He’d been long abandoned by the asshole friends who’d dragged him there with promise of a good time. He fished his cigarettes from his pocket, flipping open the box and thumbing one between his lips. Before he could pull out a lighter there was a _snkt_ and a flash of flame setting the tip of his Wild Horse aglow.

“Hey, thanks.” He said, but the stranger couldn’t have heard him, not over the deafening music. She was pretty, old and grizzled, but pretty in a way that not many but Tony could see. He recognized her instantly though he hadn’t seen her in over a decade, she was the stuff of legends, after all. “Ma Moon.” He tried to hide his surprised awe, dipped his head in an odd bow and kissed his thumbnail. She rolled her eyes and said something but he couldn’t hear her, couldn’t make out the motions of her thick, naturally frowning lips. He rolled up his sleeve and showed her the tattoo just below the dip of his elbow, in simple script: Sawicki.

And then her face morphed, lips twisted in a sick Cheshire Cat grin. She poked at his shoulder, laughing, with a long, curved fingernail. He thought he could make out “Sawicki,” through her snarl. She turned slow, gesturing him to follow her past a burly guard standing at the foot of a precariously steep set of stairs. He knew the stairs, he’d been to the club a hundred times in years past. At the top of the stairs was the DJ booth, and a quiet room full of tables and chairs that the club’s owner ran drugs out of. At least, that was what he’d heard.

It turned out that he wasn’t wrong. “Jared,” Ma Moon’s voice was gravely and wet like bubbling water running over river rocks. Tony could hear it now, past the dull ringing ears. It was quieter on the upper floor than it was even out on the sidewalk outside the building, though Tony wasn’t quite sure how. The silence was nearly oppressive, but he could feel the thud of the base under his feet. “I think I’ve got a solution to our little problem.”

A tall man, just bones and hanging skin, looked up from the stacks of money he was counting at a small round table in the corner of the room. Tony recognized him, he was the guy who sat by the door and took your seven bucks when you came in— stamped your hand with the black-light leopard that seemed to move as you did. He’d thought the man was just an employee, like Joe— the fat bouncer with the military-trimmed mustache who was always a little too handsy when he was patting down your junk. “I’m listening.” Jared had a sinister kind of voice, rattling like bones but it wasn’t an endearing shake like Ma Moon’s.

He felt Ma Moon’s hand on his shoulder it wasn’t heavy, but it was present and it was cold; it felt like ice was coming off her skin with each heartbeat, brushing against his neck and jaw. She squeezed with what little strength she seemed to have in her arthritic knuckles and pushed him forward a step. “Meet the youngest Sawicki boy.”

Jared’s rheumy eyes snapped up from his money to look at him with an interested focus Tony had never seen from the man before. He leaned forward on the table, his forearms resting against the edge of it, “What’s your name, son? Antoine, was it?”

“Tony.” He glanced back at Ma Moon who nodded her approval, her plump mouth twisted in a small gleeful smile. He turned back to the old man and, as an afterthought, he added, “Sir.”

A low laugh rumbled from Jared’s hollow chest, it was as rickety as he was and it cracked his skeletal face open. “Tony, Tony.” He said it like he was committing it to memory. His tongue darted out to wet his loose lips, it moved like an animal of it’s own thinking and made Tony shift his weight from foot to foot. “How would you like to do me a favor, Tony?”

He didn’t want to do Jared a favor, but Ma Moon was humming in his ear in a way that said he _did_ want to do Jared a favor. And Tony didn’t know a lot of things, but he knew being on Ma Moon’s good side was place he wanted to be— it was how his family had survived, it was what had put food in his young belly. He turned his head to catch her gaze and she smiled at him with teeth too white and straight and young for her face. He nodded, looked back to Jared and nodded with further conviction. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“Good, good, good, Tony. Good, that’s what I like to hear.” He waggled a finger at Tony and laughed. “Oh, son, you are saving me some trouble tonight, and that endears you to me some.”

Tony clenched his jaw and took a step closer to Jared’s table. “What do you need?”

Jared crooked a bony finger at him and urged Tony to his side. When the boy got there he leaned back in his chair and pulled Tony’s head low by his shirt collar. “I need you to move some product out of this establishment.”

Tony’s eyes flicked up to Ma Moon’s but she was still just giving him that same smile, had her arms crossed against her sagging breasts. “What’s the catch, man?” Ma Moon, Jared, and even the overly muscular man at the top of the stairs, threw their heads back with laughter. Tony pulled back, using his own hands to pry loose Jared’s fingers from his shirt. “I ain’t gonna do shit for you unless you’re straight with me, man. I ain’t dumb like my uncle or my pa.”

“No, you’re not.” Jared laughed a bit longer before he settled. “Son, I’m only going to tell you this once, and that’s because I like your spunk.” He shook his finger at Tony. “I don’t like questions. Any time you agree to do something for me, you do it with the information I give you. We understand each other?”

He scrunched his face but before he could say anything Ma Moon spoke, and her voice was sharp and demanding, “Sawicki, you’ll do well to listen to this man.”

He stilled and looked warily from Ma Moon to Jared. Jared smiled again, his teeth were long and rotting in places, “You’re going to take my coke and you’re going to get it out of here. You’re going to meet Joe by the pier and you’re going to give it all to him. You got it?” Tony swallowed and nodded. “Now,” Jared opened up a cashbox on the table and lifted out the plastic cover that held slots for different tenders. In the space underneath was the most cocaine Tony had ever seen in his entire life. “Load up your pockets, Antoine.”

And he did. He spread the little knotted packets evenly across all of his pockets so none of them bulged and when he was done he looked up at Ma Moon and then at Jared and then he walked for the stairs, hiking his pants up a bit higher. Ma Moon’s veiny hand caught him in the chest, she shook her head, “Use this door,” she pointed to a door painted black in the back of the room. He nodded and went for the door but before he got there she called to him, “Don’t let old Ma Moon down now, Sawicki.”

He wouldn’t. The stairs led down a ways, farther than he thought they should, and when he walked out the door at the bottom of them he found himself in the basement. He’d only been on this level once before, he knew there was an open door that led out into the entryway of the dance floor. There was an untended bar and a few pool tables, but the place was empty save for the few kids playing billiards. Tony crossed the room and took the stairs up two at a time, the door to the main floor was open as he’d expected. He’d forgotten how loud the music was, he could feel his eardrums shaking in his head; he shoved his fingers in his ears and wiggled them to try and scratch out the tickling but it didn’t help. He sighed and looked around— they were obvious now that he was on alert. If there was one thing Tony Sawicki was good at, it was spotting cops. They were undercover— two hanging out by the door, one by the bar, and one leaning in the entryway to the dance floor. The last was less than two feet away from him. He swallowed down the sudden rush of nerves and walked forward past the closest pig. But he could feel the guy’s eyes on his back, could feel him watching him. He had to think quick.

There was a pretty little thing pushing his way around the corner, knocking people out of his way with precision forearm shoves and banging hips. His hair was plastered to his forehead and he was shirtless, his dramatic eyeshadow was smeared over the bridge of his nose, trickled down his temples and across his cheeks in heavy rivulets and smudges. It looked like black warpaint. The boy (and he was just a boy) was tall, mostly torso, and covered in lean muscle— more than someone his age normally carried. He was flat where Tony had a bit of meat, and he was cute in all the ways Tony liked. The officer eyed him and he eyed back, though some kind of recognition flashed over him and Tony could have laughed at the mixture of fear and mild disgust that crossed the boy’s face.

The cop made a move for him, reached for his elbow. Tony did the only thing he could think of doing— he grabbed the kid— grabbed him hard by the hips and pulled him to him, pressed their mouths together tight. It was the briefest hesitation he’d ever felt before the kid’s mouth opened up and his tongue came out to play with Tony’s. When Tony pulled back the cop was looking queasy in that really special homophobic way. “There you are, Boy. I been lookin’ all over for you. How many times I gotta tell you not to run off?”

“Wha?” He said, and ohhhhh, he had an accent. The kid had a fucking accent and Tony felt his knees go weak.

He leaned in close, tongue darting out to wet his lips and he whispered low and quiet, hoped the kid could hear him over the thrumming bass. “You look like the kind of boy who doesn’t need to get frisked, am I right?” He palmed the kid’s tight front pocket and felt what was certainly a handful of the little packages he had filling his own pockets.

Plump lips twisted and his jaw worked behind his closed mouth, he finally nodded.

“That’s what I thought. I’m saving us both then. You should really thank me.”

The cop was watching them again, shifting. “My name is Felix,” was all he said before he lowered his head back down for another, deeper, kiss. They pushed backwards towards the door and in the few glances Tony stole out of the corners of his eyes all of the undercover officers were averting their gazes.

Score.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the name but this club is a real place, at least it was, I imagine it's finally been shut down for good by now. The cops would make the owner close up shop every few months, but it somehow always found it's way back open. It was the only joint in town that would let in underaged kids and if you were a queer kid in the city on a Saturday night between 1am and 4am-- you were there. A few of these characters are real people, names have been changed of course... except for Joe, I didn't change that bastard's name.


	14. With The Devil Inside Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helenatheferalangel (on tumblr): "Hi could you write a CC One Shot from Helena's persoective about growing up in the convent, finding out about Sarah and--if you want--coming to find her? Thank you!"
> 
> YES. I can do that. This one took WAY too much Sarah McLachlan to write. Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot contains spoilers for chapter 5 of the High School AU Cable Car. If you don't want to be spoiled, go read chapter 5! K? K :)
> 
> I thought I should edit this to add some warnings-- some mild body horror, self-harm. It's all standard Helena business, but better safe than sorry.

Helena always had an empty space in side of her. She couldn’t remember the first time the nuns struck her. They just always had— hard and angry and so so full of righteousness. She did not like the nuns. She did not like the way they twisted her hair so sharply around their fingers that it stung or the way they poked at her until she sat straight in her chair. She did not like their faces, all long and gaunt with sharp points and edges that haunted her in her sleep— all of them except Sister Angelina, she was soft and round and had a redness to her cheeks that Helena liked. Sister Angelina was young and kind, like whatever darkness lived in the cold ground hadn’t reached her yet. Helena thought that maybe looking at Sister Angelina filled up the empty space, but she didn’t, not really. Helena too was young, and still she felt the darkness come at night.

She curled tight under her scratchy blanket, trying to ward away the icy fingers of the Devil. But he came, his breath in the breeze under the door and the gaps in the window frame, his body the freezing earth under her bed. She feared dropping her feet to the floor, that he might grab her by the ankle and claim her as his own. That the chill of the stone against her toes, the way it echoed in her arches, was the Devil seeping his way into her body. Maybe like he was looking to fill her empty space.

She swore he never got to her, she made sure. She waited until the sun had risen, until the hot light peeked in though her dust-covered window (so coated now that not even scrubbing could clear it). She reached down for her shoes and tied them on, never letting her bare feet touch the ground. Still, for all her effort, they called Helena ‘Маленький чорт’. She did not like this, but her words were always met with retribution. One day she learned to stop talking.

The nuns still frowned, their lips sagging sacks of meat tied to strings at the edges like puppets to be tugged this way and that (but never up, never in smiles). Sister Angelina smiled, she held Helena’s face in her hands and told Helena that sometimes things were this way and that she had to be strong. She told Helena that God rewarded strength… that he would see hers and care for her. She told Helena that God would fill her empty space if she was good and loved Him. Helena was very sure that Sister Angelina was a gift from God— a reward for her years at the hands of righteous nuns.

The winter that Sister Angelina died Helena found herself truly alone and very very empty. She sniffled from the same sickness and the nuns told her it was punishment for the mud she’d tracked in. And they made her take off her shoes and scrub them clean and then they smacked at the bottoms of her feet until they were red and angry, and they sent her to bed. She begged for her shoes, pleaded, sitting on her knees in the wobbly chair where she’d received her paddling. But Sister Olga’s meat lips were a mangled snarl and with each step back to her room the Devil creeped up her heels and between her toes. She thinks maybe he filled some of the emptiness, like a hard pit it her gut.

With the Devil inside her it was no surprise when they called her ‘Маленький чорт’. It was no surprise, with him inside, when the mail boy’s fuzzy cotton-top head popped around the corner; he smiled at her and she smiled back and he was gone until the next week. With the Devil inside her she pressed her back to the wooden support beam at the corner of the kitchen, poked her head around the side of it. She watched the mail boy run from the main building. He wore shoes on his feet. She never wore shoes anymore. Her toes pressed into the cold earth, like hard clay under her, like the Devil inside of her.

She grew quicker with the Devil inside her. Little by little he made her rounder and softer in places she’d only ever been bones. The nuns didn’t seem to notice the gradual change but she noticed. She noticed and the mail boy noticed. The mail boy must have had an angel inside of him, Helena decided, because his body changed little by little too— his shoulders were like horses’ shoulders and his jaw like a sturdy plank of wood. His smile was an angel’s smile and Helena couldn’t stop herself when she waved at him because it made his untethered lips curl in a way that she liked.

Helena had always been told that her body was for God only but with the Devil inside her she did not know who her body belonged too anymore. She thought about this one day while she slipped her loose shirt over her head in the bathing room. The mail boy must have thought her body belonged to him, because when she turned he was there. His angel smile was crooked sideways and he licked his lips before he ran. Sister Olga caught him by the ear and the wooden switch she kept up her sleeve fell down on his head with an angry slap. Slap slap slap. And when she finally let him loose he ran far and fast on angel feet. His shoes had tiny angel’s wings— Helena had seen. He had once called them Nikes, once called himself Orin. She wished she had shoes that could fly her away like Orin. But angel shoes were for angels and all Helena had was the Devil.

Sister Olga’s righteousness came with a fury violent enough that Helena saw the blood trickle down her legs, staining the stone with her footprints. A scourging— Sister Olga had called it. “If you are old enough to turn a man’s eye, you are old enough for the whip.”

And where she’d stood, in front of Sister Olga’s desk, there was a small pool of her hot Devil blood. It was spattered against the old wood desk, against the walls and the metal cabinets full of papers. When Sister Olga dropped her hand after the final lash she rounded her desk and opened a file Helena had seen several times— a file that grew as Helena did.

Sister Olga’s voice was hard and angry and so so full of righteousness when she told Helena to clean her sin away. So Helena got her bucket and her brush and she knelt on the floor and scrubbed and scrubbed. She scrubbed the desk and she scrubbed the wall and she scrubbed the floor again, because she was leaking more sin there. She glanced at the file, but remembered the reward Sister Angelina had promised God would give her to fill up the hole inside her.

“It’s the Devil coming out of you, Маленький чорт.” They’d said and pointed at the redness.

And she learned that her pain caused the Devil pain too. So when they gave her a razor she knew how to hurt him. And the next time she felt the sting of Sister Olga’s lash she thought of all of the pain the Devil must be in while the leather fell criss-cross against the wounds caused by her own hands. God’s hands, maybe.

This time she bowed her back harder, stretched her skin farther, while she scrubbed the Devil’s blood off of Sister Olga’s floor. Her movements were more aggressive, stronger, more sure, and they hurt. They hurt her, but they hurt the Devil too. Her shoulder knocked into Sister Olga’s desk with the ferocity of her scrubbing and a stack of papers fluttered down to land over her. She jumped to save the few that had fallen in her water bucket, but they were ruined. She wiped at them with the hem of her shirt and smoothed them flat against the floor with shaking fingers.

Her own face stared back at her, she thought, a her before she knew the Devil. A her before she knew of God and angels. A her before she even knew Sister Angelina. With the picture was strange script. Helena recognized it— Holy text. The script on the page was the same script in many of the Bibles, she’d been taught enough to know the Good Word. Many of the words on the pages were ones she did not know but many were— and those were the important ones.

Twin sister. “сестра-близнец,” she whispered.

“отдельно от.” Separate from.

England, Англия. Canada, Канада. These were places on maps, she thought.

“сестра-близнец,” she hummed, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

Sestra.

Sarah Manning.

And she was less empty every time her lips formed the words, “Sarah Manning.” “Sarah Manning.” “Sarah Manning.”

The name filled her, from the bottom of her stomach right to her throat, until there was no more room for the Devil inside her.

Sarah Manning. сестра-близнец.


	15. Sharesies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than one person requested this one-shot: Alison gets herself into some trouble on opening night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot has spoilers for chapter 12 of the high school AU Cable Car. If you don't want to be spoiled, go read it first.

“Beth? Beth!” Alison took the catwalk stairs two at a time.

Eric smiled at her, “What’s up, Alison? Great show.” His smile faded quickly, “You’re looking for Beth, huh?”

“What gave you that idea, Eric?”

He blinked a few times, “Uh…”

Alison sighed and dropped her hands to her sides, “Have you seen her?”

“Yeah, actually.” He shifted his weight over the coiled steel of the grid, “Uh,” he pointed down to the stage, “I heard her crying, saw her fly by. It looked like her, anyway. Same…” he pinched his shirt, “…shirt…” he squinted at her. “Everything okay?”

Alison ground her teeth together and muttered, “Does it look like everything is okay, Eric? You saw her run by crying and you just…?”

He shrugged and gestured to the instrument he was fiddling with.

Alison rolled her eyes and ran back down the stairs. “Beth?!” She wasn’t in the supply closet with the instruments or anywhere else backstage so Alison tore out of the door to the auditorium.

She rounded the corner to Beth’s locker at top speed, but the hallway was empty. “Beth!” Her voice ricocheted off the metal lockers, coming back to no one but her. Her sneakers squeaked against the tile floor as she ran down the hall.

She managed two more corners before Mr. Wallace’s monotone rumble caught her, “Ms. Hendrix. There is no running indoors.”

She stopped short and turned on him angrily, working to soften her tone, “Have you seen Beth? Beth Childs?”

“Hmmm,” he seemed to be working his brain to form words in that slow way that made her absolutely crazy. She couldn’t wait, moving foot-to-foot and resting her fingertips on the wall. “No,” he finally replied.

Without another word to him she stomped off as quickly as she could without breaking into a jog. Beth wasn’t in Mrs. Cormier’s room, and she wasn’t in the cafeteria, behind the gym, or on the pitch either. And that’s where Alison sat. Her frantic breathing gave way to gasps and tears. She tangled her fingers in the cool grass and cried for what felt like an hour but could have only been twenty minutes or so.

“Oi!” A honk. Her head shot up to see headlights cutting across the darkness. A truck was shining high-beams in her eyes. She held up an arm to block the light until they dimmed. “Why so sad, Hendrix?” She heard the metal slam of a door and Felix’s lanky form began moving in and out of the light. “We just put on the performance of our lives, nothing to cry about.”

“I can’t find Beth…” she whispered, dropping her head forward onto her knees and wiping away her tears on her jeans.

“Whassat?” He knelt in front of her. His hand was uncharacteristically comforting when it cupped the back of her neck, “Beth?” 

She nodded. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth, “Slippery.” He took in a deep breath, “Well, darling, the last I saw of her she was bolting out of the auditorium.”

“Yeah, that’s the last _anyone’s_ seen of her,” she sniffled and wiped fresh tears from her cheeks with the backs of her wrists.

He dried her splotchy face with his fingertips and lifted her chin to look into her watery eyes. “Oh, love. Sometimes people just need some time away.”

“She needs me, Felix. I have no idea what’s going on, but I know she’s angry or scared… she’s hurting. She’s out here somewhere…hurting without me.”

“Have you got your phone?” Off her nod, he continued, “Has she texted you?” She shook her head, “Then she doesn’t want to be found, Alison.”

Alison took in a deep breath that shook around the tight knot in her throat, “What am I supposed to be here for if she doesn’t want me around when things get rough?”

Felix hummed and stood, slapping his hands against his thighs, “I don’t know, Alison. But what I do know is that there is a party happening at my place. You ought to come with me.”

She shook her head, “I can’t, I need to find Beth.”

“Well, you’re not finding her out here, are you?” He glanced around the pitch. “She knows about the party, she knows she can find you there, yeah? Let’s go. I’m sure she’ll show up.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer this time— bent down at the waist and got his hands wrapped around her upper arms and, after bracing her feet against the ground with his own, hauled her up with a grunt. “Ugh, you sporty types are so heavy.”

Alison sighed and let him lead her back to the car. He opened the back door and shoved her in, clambering after her. Sarah and Helena occupied the front seats. The punk was halfway through a joint, but Helena looked back at her with a crooked smile that dropped when she saw the mess of make up smeared across Alison’s cheeks. “Why are you sad, Alison?”

“Hi, Helena,” Alison snuffed another rush of tears up her nose, “Beth is missing. I’m worried about her.”

The blonde’s eyes widened. “Missing?” Her head jerked towards Sarah who was pulling the truck out of the small parking lot by the pitch, “Sarah, Beth is missing.”

“She’s not ‘missing-missing’, Meathead. She ran off. She’s sad.”

“Sad.” Helena thought on it, her tongue rolling against her teeth. “We should find her.”

Felix shook his head, “I don’t know, ‘Lena. All the evidence points to her not wanting to be found.”

Helena’s lips pursed and twisted against her cheek. “I have felt that way before.”

Sarah took a hand off the steering wheel and blindly reached for Helena’s head, her hand coming to rest on the blonde’s cheek, “Yeah, I know it, Meathead. I think we all have.”

Helena’s eyes peeked over Sarah’s thumb to land on Alison. “Beth will come to the party when she feels better.”

Felix and Sarah nodded. Sarah pulled her hand back to the wheel, turning into the traffic of people leaving from the show, grumbling about inconsiderate drivers. “In the meantime we’ll cheer you up, Alison.”

When she looked over at Felix he had a marker cap sticking out from between his lips and he was drawing a line on the inside of his arm. “Yes, we will,” he looked up and smiled, snapping the sharpie back into the cap and gathering the chain it was threaded through in his hands. “You can have a few beers back at our place, lift your spirits right up!” He dropped the necklace over his head and patted her arm.

“What’s that for?” She reached out and touched the black mark on his arm.

“Ah!” He smiled, “It’s a tally,” he fished in his pocket for a bottle of pills that Alison had heard rattling around, “so I can keep track of how many Little Helpers I’ve had.” He shook the bottle playfully and opened it. His fingers were long enough to brush the bottom of the bottle and he drew a pill up the side. He popped it in his mouth and waggled his eyebrows.

Alison’s eyes followed the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed, “What do they do?”

“They’re uppers, Darling.”

Sarah smiled and glanced back at them, “They make you go up.” And Helena pointed a finger to the roof, moving it up until it bent back a bit with the resistance of the upholstery.

“As opposed to downers,” Alison clarified, “which make you go down.” And Helena’s finger moved down until it hit her thigh.

Felix reached out to boop the tip of her nose, “Boy George, I think she’s got it!”

Alison’s lips bent into a frown as she thought, “Isn’t alcohol a depressant?”

Three sets of eyes turned on her and Sarah snorted, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, I want to be up… not down.” She thrust her palm into Felix’s face.

His brows raised, “Sharesies? Are you sure?” She nodded, but he was already fishing another pill from the bottle, he opened his mouth and she opened hers and he pressed it to the flat of her tongue, “Alright then— up it is!”

Sarah produced a bottle of soda and bent at the elbow to pass it over her shoulder. “Up, up, and away.”

She twisted the cap off and took several swallows of the syrupy liquid, “Blech,” she shook her head, face contorted.

“Sorry,” Sarah smiled, “rum and coke.”

Felix grabbed her arm and twisted it around. He uncapped his marker and drew a line on her arm. She looked down at it and nodded— Beth didn’t want her around, so she’d give her the space she needed.


	16. CC Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alison confronts Rachel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot contains spoilers for chapter 16 of the high school AU Cable Car. If you don't want to be spoiled, go read that first.

“Rachel, I can’t keep doing this. _You_ can’t keep doing this.” Alison shook her head tightly, eyelashes fluttering with rage. “You can’t control me like this!”

Rachel didn’t bother turning, just continued leading Alison from the lunchroom, “You may do whatever you please, Alison.”

“We both know that isn’t true. I can’t do anything with your looming threats of benching me.” Alison was nearing frustrated tears quickly, the tension in her throat pushing her closer, “Can we please talk about what this is really about?!” She stopped dead in her tracks, her shoes squeaking against the tile of the empty hallway, echoing around them.

Rachel finally spun, slow and deliberate, an unreadable expression on her face, “Pray tell, what is this _really_ about?”

“You’re jealous of Beth, Rachel. You’ve always been jealous of Beth!” Her words were a forceful shove, but Rachel’s balance held true. “You started off just plain afraid of her, but now you can’t handle that I have feelings for her!”

Rachel scoffed and turned her back on Alison, continuing her journey towards the gym.

“Stop, Rachel, listen to me!” Alison didn’t move, just shouted as Rachel widened the distance between them. “You’re not going to lose me, you will never lose me! But I love her, and you can’t stop that!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Alison.” Rachel hissed over her shoulder, “This has nothing to do with you and your little side project and everything to do with Sarah Manning.”

The tears spilled over her lids and she choked against them, “Rachel, please.”

“And you cannot possibly _love_ Beth Childs, you’ve known her for three weeks. Please. Grow. Up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, so short. Baby one-shot.


	17. CC Chapter 16, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know that dork Dryily has been waiting on this one-shot for like two months or something. I promised it'd happen eventually, here it is-- Alison watches Beth play in her peak. This one takes place two-ish years before Cable Car starts, if you want a time frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think anything here counts as spoilers, read away. If you want the full experience, head over to chapter 16 of Cable Car, but it's for sure not necessary.

It had been a long time since Alison had seen Rachel this anxious. She was fiddling with the marbled red and white wrist band they’d each been handed when they got on the bus. “You okay, Rach?”

“Of course, don’t be ridiculous.” But Rachel was looking out the window and her voice was far off.

The bus was slowing to a stop and Alison could have laughed at how quickly the chatter died down. A charter bus full of girls quieting to near silence, only murmurs and gasps remained. Outside the windows to their left was the training ground for the Canadian National Teams— the actual Canadian National Teams. Rachel had both palms on the glass, her eyes flicking around between all of the bustling activity.

“Wow, cool.” Alison said, getting up on her knees to see over Rachel’s head.

“Welcome to Camp!” A voice boomed from the front of the bus and all of the girls jerked forward at once to see who was speaking. Alison recognized her, though she couldn’t quite place her— she knew Rachel would know exactly who she was. She felt the English teen’s fingers thread through her own, squeeze her hand tightly. She smiled and spared Rachel a glance, but the girl had her eyes forward, was sitting tall in her seat. “You’ve all been accepted into the day training program this weekend because you’re exceptional players. I’d like to see that. I’d like to see how you move, see how you play…I want to see your best work on the pitch.” She finally smiled, “When I call your name come on up.”

***

It was hot and the sun was stinging her skin but she rolled her short sleeves up anyway, because Rachel had and she… did what Rachel did. The line was long for testing, but they stood in it— waiting to show how fast they could run, how high they could jump, how far. It had been twenty excruciatingly long minutes, every second seemed to take four and Alison was sweating from doing nothing but standing there and she was very very bored.

Rachel was not bored. Her eyes were like some predatory bird’s, they took in everything happening around them, and her grip were like talons when they latched on to Alison’s arm. “Alison,” the blonde hissed.

“Huh? What?” Alison jumped, nearly having drifted off to sleep under the burning heat.

“Look.” And she pointed.

Alison followed her arm, stretched out, uncaring who saw it, to see a line of girls around their age in red kits, weighed down with bags of gear, stomping onto a nearby pitch. “What am I looking at?”

“That,” Rachel said, not taking her eyes off of them, “is where we should be. It’s the U-17s.” She was shifting her weight anxiously.

Alison nodded and drew her attention back to the line of girls in front of them. “If we show them how good we are this weekend we’ll be out there next year.”

“We should be out there now.” Rachel’s voice was sharp and bitter.

“Well, we’re not, we’re here.”

Rachel sighed and spent the next several minutes clearly trying to keep her eyes forward, but her focus kept drifting back to the pitch and it was never long before she was on her tip toes again. “I am going over there,” she finally said.

“Rachel don’t!” Alison spun on her, grabbing her arm. “If we get out of line now we’ll have to start all over again from the back of the line and I don’t feel like waiting another half an hour in the sun!” But Rachel was pushing away from her, striding with purpose towards the bright green grass. Alison groaned and bounced on the balls of her feet. She hopped up and down for a moment before taking off at a sprint towards Rachel. “I hate you so much,” she grumbled.

“You didn’t have to come with me.”

They were getting closer and Alison could make out the players faces, all stoic as they ran back and forth chasing the ball, she shook her head, “I know.” They stopped on the sideline and suddenly Alison didn’t feel so bad about abandoning the testing line. The girls moved fast and hard like it wasn’t just practice. They dipped and weaved, all of them, in some form of poetry that only they understood. The girl with the captain’s armband broke from the pack and barreled forward towards the goal— barrel was the right word, she moved with a hurricane force. A midfielder came after her, Alison couldn’t help but notice how sloppy her evasion was. “She’d be much better off if she’d pay attention to what was going on around her instead of just where she’s going.”

Rachel snorted a huff of air through her lungs, her chin jutting out towards the teen, “Her name is Elizabeth Childs.”

Alison wondered how on earth the girl had managed to earn the title of team captain when she played like she was wearing blinders. Elizabeth Childs lifted her head and found an opening between defenders, crossing the pitch at top speed. Alison cringed, she was certain there was going to be a brutal collision, but the captain weaved between the two pressing teens. “Oh God, she’s going to kill herself.”

Rachel’s voice was barely above a whisper filled with unrestrained awe, “Just watch.”

So Alison shut her mouth and kept an eye on the ball, she could hardly tell where it was in relation to the girl’s feet. Elizabeth Childs’ elbow came up to shove away a defender and she stopped on a dime, reversed directions, and when the challenger came upon her from behind she spun away. The outside of her boot caught the ball and she was off in another explosive flash of lightning. She slid through a frighteningly small gap in the defense, toeing the ball forward as she slipped by. Alison thought it was over when the goalie stepped forward. The tall girl had clearly noticed what Alison had, Elizabeth Childs only had eyes for her own footwork. The keeper lunged forward directly on top of the ball. Rachel was grinning ear to ear, but Alison wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t until she registered Elizabeth Childs obnoxious hooting that she noticed that the girl had somehow clipped the ball out from underneath the goalie as she was falling, transferred it to her other foot and sent it straight into the net.

Rachel was shaking her head, “Alison. _That_ is how you play football.”


	18. Prizefight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: “PLEASE GIVE ME A ONE SHOT OF ANGRY DELPHINE! I NEED IT!”
> 
> Epoch: “I would love to read about the week before Beth showed up when Delphine gets mad at Rachel. ;3 bet Cosima found that to be hot.”
> 
> Dryily: “Anyway, I'm so curious to know some more about that time Delphine got really mad with Rachel.”
> 
>  
> 
> You guys wanted it, you got it. With all these unreliable idiots it’s hard to tell what really happened that day. Luckily, I know the truth. Let me tell you all about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all, I hate to spoil this for you, but Rachel and Sarah ‘bouts to fuck. It’s about a thousand times less violent than the last time, but problematic faves are problematic. I’d classify this as your run-of-the-mill rough sex: no choking or spitting or shoving or anything like that. Rachel does get a fist to the face, but it’s part of the fight, not the sex. Still, err on the side of caution if you’re sensitive to more aggressive sex.
> 
> If you want the fight without the sex, stop when Sarah tells Helena to beat it.

I knew from the moment I opened my mouth that there would be an altercation. I’m not entirely sure why I chose to speak up. I’m not sure what I thought I would accomplish. No, that’s not true, I knew precisely what I wanted— I wanted to see the fire behind Sarah’s eyes ignite.

The ember is always there, a pilot light of rage, burning only for me. It’s almost poetic, that she saves it for me and me alone— the constant simmer. There is something so beautiful about her anger, I believe it may be the only emotion she truly feels. And she feels it with such strength and passion. When it’s turned on me I come alive, desire, love, so many extremes, and anger, as well, of course. It’s absolutely invigorating.

I was angry at the time, immediately, when Alison and I came around the gym building and found them there. Sarah’s little friend and her cocker spaniel had their tongues so far down each other’s throats I thought they could gag at any moment. The moment I saw them I felt it, a swell of burning beneath my sternum. The burn was…unpleasant. It wasn’t a warm burn, like the brush of Sarah’s calloused hands over my skin. It was cold, as bitter as a winter bluster moving up my windpipe from somewhere deep in my chest. I truly ached for the heat of her then, and she was so close— just leaning against the wall by her ratty sister’s clomping boots where they kicked back against it. She looked up at me with those fire eyes, low and begging for a gust of oxygen from my lungs, a splash of gasoline-saliva, to send the flame into a frenzy. God, I needed her against me, always I needed her.

So I spoke without thinking about anything else, nothing but her furious love: “Do you two mind? Honestly, I’m repulsed. Couldn’t you find a paying audience somewhere?”

They extracted themselves from their tangle of tongues immediately, as if I’d startled them. The short one smirked, open-mouthed and toothy and full of pride. The French one, though, was less amused. I’m sure she looked very angry, her voice certainly was, but my attention flicked to Sarah. She rocked her head back against the concrete barrier-wall and then forward, with the momentum, she took a step away from it. Her tongue slid across the front of her teeth slowly, as if counting them. She does this often, to this day I see the movement, it always precedes her first strike. I imagine she needs to know how many teeth she’s got to know how many she’s lost once the bloody dust settles.

But the French one stepped in front of her, obstructing my view. I felt a twinge in my biceps— the unmistakable urge to lash out at the tall bitch for the offense, like coming between a painter and her easel.

As I said, her voice was very angry: “If you don’t like the show, maybe you should leave.” They’ve always left a bad taste in my mouth, the French. This one was no different.

“I do believe they say that this is a,” I glanced over to Alison for confirmation, “a free country?”

She had her head bowed submissively, but her eyes were up and active. She had enough foresight to see where this was all going. “We should go, Rachel,” she said.

I cleared my throat and spoke louder, “America is a free country, is it not? This is a public institution and I am enrolled here. I’m permitted on this property, in fact, I’m legally obligated to attend school.” I strode closer to the tall girl, I had to look up at her, but her eyelashes fluttered nonetheless, “Your public display of affection is negatively affecting my desire to learn. Do contain yourself, I’d hate to vomit and end up truant.”

She steeled herself then, taking up most of my vision. Which was truly a shame because I would have given anything to see Sarah’s flame build in that moment, to see her shoulders roll the way they do when she’s burning to bruise me with lips, teeth, or hands. She was still angry and I was still bored by her ridiculous accent and pathetic puppy face, “You are rude and a menace to this school. I won’t allow you to bully us this way.”

“Babe, babe.” Cosima was somewhere behind her, her fingers wrapping around the blonde’s arms, “Come on, we’ve got to get to class.”

She took a step back, unwilling, her tiny girlfriend was dragging her away. The moment she was out of my line-of-sight, I was met with Sarah’s tense jaw and that delicious bonfire gaze. A quiet thud came from behind her and I realized that Helena was likely to be a problem. Despite our even match up, two-on-two, I was under no illusions— Alison’s loyalties ended with fist fights. Luckily, Sarah threw an arm out behind herself, spoke in that brutish accent, “Nah, I’ve got this.”

Her shoulders rolled, and with them, my stomach— like a chorus of monarchs fluttering for her. She closed the distance between us swiftly and growled, “You need to learn some bloody manners, Duncan.” Helena came from behind Sarah like an animal would, circling, to stand behind Alison. Alison squeaked, spun quickly, and I tore my eyes away from Sarah to grip her shoulders and pull her closer.

“This is between your sister and me,” I said, low and warning, as if I could ever lay a finger on that psycho.

Sarah tutted her tongue against the backs of her teeth and I could hear, as much as I could feel, the smirk spread across her face. “Seems you’ve picked yourself a fight you can’t win, ‘aven’t you.”

Surprise was all I had on my side, so I shoved Alison to my right and spun as quickly as I could. My plan to make the first move was less than successful. I’d turned right into Sarah’s fist. It hurt, I stumbled into Alison who caught me and kept me upright. I could feel her shaking against my back. The smug look on Sarah’s face was more than enough to keep me going, I lunged at her. She wasn’t expecting it and the momentary flash of alarm that crossed her face was the worth the pain jolting through my cheekbone. I could hear Alison squeal and I turned instinctually to find her squirming in Helena’s grasp. The Ukranian didn’t seem to be hurting her, the intent purely to keep Alison from entering the fray.

Sarah capitalized on the distraction. I felt her arm around my neck and she was pulling me back into her. I grunted with the force of impacting her chest. She hissed in my ear, “Rachel, Rachel, Rachel,” another tut and she was shaking her head, her cheek pressed to my head. It was a difficult position, being bent over backward in heels, but Sarah’s strong arm held me tight to her breast. “What am I going to do with you?” I reached around and fisted her hair, pulling as hard as I could. The sound that came rattling from her throat was most definitely a moan. The bell rang. She spoke with enough volume to cross the distance to Alison and Helena, “What class have you got, Alison?”

“A-A free period. Study hall.”

Sarah smirked, I felt it against the shell of my ear. “Helena, make sure Hendrix gets to the auditorium, would ya? And stay there with her. I need to teach Rachel a lesson in civilities.” Helena eyed Sarah, hesitant and careful, before nodding and dragging Alison around the corner. I’d have been worried, but I recognized the shudder that moved through her chest with her next intake of air. As soon as they were out of sight her free hand came up to cover my mouth, the catch of her callouses was rough, they dragged through red lipstick. Teeth dug in points into my earlobe and a few strands of hair caught against her tongue stung against my scalp. Sarah uncovered my mouth and released my ear, swiping my hair away. “Ballsy of you, picking a fight just to turn me on.”

I scoffed, “Don’t flatter yourself, they were utterly disgusting and you know it,” I spat, pulling against her hold.

She eased her grip just enough to spin me, the crook of her elbow against the back of my neck instead of pressed tight to my throat. She leaned forward onto her toes so she could follow me to my full height. Something always softens inside me when she does that— the weight of her, the way she uses me to pull herself up— but I didn’t have time for softness that day, the harsh of her teeth reminded me quite quickly.

They dug into my bottom lip and she pulled back until it hurt. My arms hooked under hers and I grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck as roughly as I could manage through my own pain. Yanking her back caused the pain to intensify, but only momentarily, before she unlocked her jaw and let me go. I immediately eased my grip. She leaned back in and brushed her lips softly against mine, the fingers of her free hand coming up to graze against my cheek. I am, to this day, unsure what caused the switch in her demeanor, but it was welcome and I aimed to reward her for it. I pressed my hands further into her mess of hair to scritch the base of her scalp with my fingernails.

It was a long process, training Sarah. I’d been doing it quietly for years— rewarding her for the slightest give until we’d developed these moments of peaceful affection amidst the whirlwind of angry war. I’m fond of our cease-fires, as I’m sure Sarah is as well, however brief they may be.

The cease-fire during our encounter that day lasted longer than most, though it wasn’t our longest by far. When she used the arm around my neck to pull me into a kiss that was less bruising than usual, I backed her into the brick of the gym building and deepened the kiss, coaxing her tongue into my mouth with my own. Her moan echoed through the cave of my mouth and crashed into mine as it slipped free of the grasp I had on it. I was in awe— Sarah wasn’t fighting against me at all, though the swelling of my face was a constant reminder that she could change her mind at any moment. It was sentimental of me, to reach for her face as I did, to fondly brush my fingertips against the skin stretched over her jaw. I broke our kiss to rest my forehead against hers and catch my breath. My heart was racing in my chest, thudding along to whatever cadence she demanded.

Like a hound on the scent of weakness she released her hold on me, using the moment only to dig into my hips with familiar and brutal fingertips. She adjusted her stance for better leverage and flipped us around. My back crashed into the bricks and Sarah growled, lunging forward, her kiss open-mouthed from the start. My head thudded back against the wall with the force of her and she thrust her tongue roughly against mine, pressed into me until there was no space left between us from lips to knees. Her hands inched lower— her fingers with a cruel intent. Bit by bit she tugged my skirt up. It’s design, form-fitting to the hem, impeded her ability to push her thigh between mine. She paused, and I felt her frustration mount so quickly that it would have likely scared anyone else. With a grunt she pulled back, her eyes dropping to inspect the problem, and when she looked back up at me it was with glinting eyes, so pleased with herself. I knew her plan before she put it into action, she grabbed the edge of my skirt at the hem where a notch was left above the knee for ease of movement and tugged roughly. The stitching held, she’d succeeded only in pulling my right hip away from the wall. Her glower returned at her failure and she pressed herself tight against me and yanked again, this time rewarded by the low sound of the giving fabric.

She chuckled and looked up into my eyes with a wide smile, her tongue pointed against an eyetooth. She pressed her hips into me again and, without breaking eye contact, she gave a strong wrench and the seam split all the way to mid-thigh. The breeze was cool as it skimmed the heat of arousal off newly-exposed skin. She pulled back again to eye her handiwork, groaning appreciatively, she traced the length of my thigh with her rough knuckles. Without further pretense, she crumpled the fabric up until it was bunched around my hips. Her lips found my chest and she kissed and nipped at the hollow of my throat.

I wish I could have helped myself, but my pelvis was drawing towards her of its own accord. I was wantonly pressing against her thumbs where they’d slid under the waistband and notched around my hipbones, the flats of them digging into the pressure points there sent a jolt directly to my cunt. I ground down against her thigh and the resulting moan spurred her into action. With a strong hand she gripped the back of my neck and drew me into a crashing kiss, my teeth banging against her mouth violently enough to break open the skin, and suddenly my lipstick wasn’t the only red staining our mouths.

The taste of blood between our tongues broke something loose inside of her. She was a starving wolf with her teeth around a pulsing throat as her lips moved against mine. Her free hand was between us in a flash, pushing my panties aside and thrusting into me without ceremony. My head dropped back as far in the confines of her hold as it was able and I was left utterly disgusted by the noise that tore through my chest. Her lips didn’t stop working against my skin, leaving smears of equal parts blood and saliva against the underside of my jaw.

“You were jealous, weren’t you,” she groaned, pumping her fingers inside me roughly, “seeing Cos and Delphine like that?” I tried to close my mouth, tried to fight against the howl strained in my throat. “You wanted this, didn’t you? You needed me fucking you right then and there.” She lowered her shoulder to gain more leverage, her slick mouth was sticky against my sternum just above the neckline of my blouse. The hand at my neck moved down to finger open the buttons until I was exposed to the navel. Free of the pressure, my head slammed back into the bricks. “You couldn’t help yourself, you’d have said anything.”

“Yes,” I admitted, panting heavily, tongue darting out to taste the heady iron rush of her blood on my lips. I didn’t have the strength to put up a fight, I was too close to orgasm, I’d taken a punch to feel the rough of her fingers inside me. I’d have begged for it if she’d asked and the fact that she didn’t made me more thankful than I’d ever been in my life and in the time since.

She didn’t gloat, I didn’t feel a smirk against my heaving chest, just the muggy heat of her own shaking exhales— we were both in strange moods that day, it seemed. This too, I was thankful for. I wrapped my hands around her head, holding it to me and dropping my own forward to rest against it as she pushed inside me. The press of her palm against my clit on each upward thrust caused my knees to give, but she caught my weight with a strong arm, thighs quivered around her wrist and my jaw dropped open when my orgasm hit me. She rammed into me a few more times before stilling with her fingers buried as deeply in my cunt as she could manage.

She flexed her hand, using the heel of her palm to press rough circles into my clit. Her moan was louder than mine as I clenched and trembled around her digits. She lifted her head, trailing her mouth up the column of my neck, “Fuck,” she whispered against my ear. My head swam with the smell of sex and blood and grass and the fresh, cool breeze. I couldn’t speak, just let my head fall to the side into hers.

She held me against the building until my thighs stopped quaking, even when we’d caught our breath and my footing was solid she still didn’t pull her fingers from me. I dropped my arms over her shoulders, bent up at the elbows, and lost my hands in her wild, untamed hair, slowly massaging her scalp. Her fingers eventually became uncomfortable, but I let her stay until she withdrew on her own. In that small moment, I was her willing prize.

She ran her tongue over her teeth once more— all there.


	19. CC Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just pure Cophine smut, if you aren't into that...I'd avoid it.
> 
> If you're a nerd like me and into the Cable Car timeline, this one-shot takes place Sunday evening in Chapter 10 (that's two days after Beth and Ali's first date). After this one-shot Cos leaves Delphine's place and heads over to Beth's apartment to ask about how the date went and they go to the park and Beth admits her addiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR SPOILERS for Chapter 20 of Cable Car. If you don't want to have your whole day ruined, I'd go read Cable Car first and then come back to this.

“Ah—fuck, Delphine,” Delphine’s bedroom door shut with the force of Cosima’s back hitting it, with the press of the blonde’s body against hers.

“I wanted to watch that movie,” her voice was a low murmur against the slope of Cosima’s neck. Two long fingers were already pushing inside her girlfriend, “I have been waiting weeks to see it.”

Cosima tried to laugh but the sound caught in her throat and came out a strangled moan, “I know, but do you really want me to apologize?” She gripped Delphine’s strong wrist with both hands, urging her deeper into the confines of her jeans, canting her hips forward.

“Non,” Delphine’s lips found her pulse point, sucking it into her mouth and rolling her tongue against the fluttering beat, she bit gently before sliding her lips up Cosima’s neck. “I want payback.”

Cosima’s head dropped back against the door with a soft thud, “Harder.”

Delphine let out a low chuckle and tutted quietly, “I don’t think so, mon amour.” She slowed her thrusts, drew them out, long and languid— from the tips of her digits until the webbing of her fingers stretched uncomfortably and then back out again. “I will take my revenge however I’d like.”

Cosima whimpered around her bottom lip, held fast between her teeth, and ground her hips down into Delphine’s palm. “Seriously? Delphine, please.”

“You teased me. For an hour. And a half,” she punctuated her words with deep pushes into the furthest reaches of Cosima’s sex. Her breath was hot in Cosima’s ear when she pulled the shorter girl’s earlobe into her mouth just long enough to flick her tongue over the soft skin, “I think I deserve reparations.”

Cosima ran her hands up Delphine’s arms, squeezing tightly with every thrust. Her brain scrambled to work, to remind the tall girl, “Okay, guilty as charged, but I let you come…like hard.”

“What makes you think you won’t?” Delphine used her free hand to pin Cosima’s rocking hips harder to the door, “Stop.”

The brunette let out a whine, grabbing Delphine’s shoulders and digging her fingers into the flexing muscles. She struggled to keep her body still but it was only a few thrusts before she started squirming again. Delphine stilled her fingers and smiled when Cosima’s head fell forward against her collarbone and a groan escaped the shorter teen’s throat. “I’m sorry,” Cosima pleaded, “you know I can’t help it.”

“Mmm, I know. You are such a… backseat driver.” Delphine struggled with the colloquialism and kissed the twisted hair against Cosima’s scalp.

The girl took a shaky breath and nodded, composing herself while Delphine waited patiently. “Okay, I deserve this.”

Delphine turned her head, her laugh was like a soft breeze against the tattooed skin of Cosima’s wrist, she brushed her lips over the ink lovingly. “Yes, you do.”

“What if we go see it again tomorrow? I promise not to fuck you in the movie theater.” Cosima smiled and jerked her hips against Delphine’s hand. The blonde’s laugh was more substantial and she pulled back fully, her fingers slipping free of wet heat and denim. “Ugh, opposite of what I was going for.”

Delphine bit her lip and spun away from Cosima, walking further into her room and sitting on the foot of her bed. “Take your clothes off,” she husked.

Cosima’s eyebrows raised and her mouth twitched into a playful smirk. “I can do that.” She leaned her shoulders back against the door and gripped the hem of her top with ringed fingers, “You want a show?”

Delphine nodded and dropped back onto her elbows, “Yes,” her tongue darted out to wet parted lips.

Eyeteeth glinted in the low light of the bedroom. “Yeah ya do.” Cosima uncrossed her arms as she pulled the patterned sweater over her head, shaking to free her heavy dreads from the loose collar. She flung it across the room and it landed perfectly over Delphine’s torso.

The blonde laughed and tossed the offending clothing to the floor, “You have good aim.”

“Well, I _have_ been practicing.” She crossed an arm to her opposite hip and lifted her cami. She ducked her head under the stretchy fabric as it slid up her body and her free hand splayed across the newly exposed skin of her stomach.

“You’ve been practicing stripping?” Delphine hummed appreciatively and chewed her bottom lip.

“Hells yeah, you know it.” She rolled her hips forward and dropped her cami to the ground. Her hand moved up to trail fingers over the swell of her cleavage, sliding a finger between her breasts to tug down teasingly on the front of the floral print push-up bra. “Can you tell?”

Delphine shrugged, dropping her head to her shoulder and trying to hide the smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “I’m not sure. Keep going and I’ll let you know.”

Cosima grinned and turned her back to the taller girl, her hip swaying to lead her into the spin. She locked her knees and dropped her upper body down until her fingers grazed the carpet between her legs. She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, pulling it off as she dragged her torso up until she was standing straight again. Honey-brown eyes glanced over her shoulder to meet Delphine’s rapt gaze, “Yeah, you like it.”

“Turn around.” Delphine’s accent had grown heavier with the weight of her tongue.

Cosima covered her breasts with tanned hands and spun slowly. She let the blonde shift for a moment, watched her uncross and recross her legs, before pulling her hands outward, trailing her fingertips across her nipples. She ran the backs of her hands down her ribcage, down the slope of her waist and the swell of her hips until she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and slid her hands to meet at the already undone button, the halfway lowered zipper, her eyes glued to Delphine’s the whole time.

The blonde’s gaze flicked down to Cosima’s unmoving hands and back up to her eyes, “What are you waiting for?”

Cosima bit her lip, “Well, I haven’t actually figured out how to sexily take off my shoes yet.” She dropped down without ceremony and pulled off a suede bootie.

Delphine’s head dropped back and she let out a loud laugh. “Come here,” she leaned forward until her stomach pressed to her thighs, reaching for the shorter girl.

Cosima’s smile was wide and her tongue poked from between her teeth as she hopped forward on one foot, trying to tug off her other shoe. Halfway to the bed it came off violently and Cosima had to catch her balance. She recovered and struck a sexy pose, one hip tilted towards Delphine. She dropped the bootie over her shoulder and, with much less performance, ran her hands again down the same practiced, seductive path to the closure of her jeans.

Delphine tipped forward onto her feet and grabbed Cosima’s belt loops, dropping back onto her seated position and dragging the tattooed girl with her. “I meant, come _here_.”

“Mmm, I must have misunderstood,” Cosima purred, smiling, and let Delphine slowly pull her short zipper the rest of the way down.

“You must have.” The blonde curled her fingers under denim and black lace underwear and tugged them both to the floor as swiftly as she could. Cosima shimmied to help the tight fabric on it’s way down her thighs. Delphine’s tongue darted out to taste the olive skin of Cosima’s stomach, her teeth nipping gently.

Cosima buried her fingers in thick, wavy hair and tightened them against Delphine’s scalp, pulling her head back and following with the movement. She stepped out of her bottoms and lifted her knees onto the edge of the mattress until she was completely naked and straddling Delphine’s legs.

Delphine held Cosima’s hips with bruising fingertips. “Mon dieu, Cosima, you are so beautiful.”

She dropped a kiss on Delphine’s forehead, “You always say that.”

“Well, you are always beautiful.” The blonde smiled and nuzzled Cosima’s chest, planting open-mouthed kisses along the curve of one breast and then the other, her tongue pressing and flicking against sensitive skin.

Cosima smiled and dipped her head to breathe in the scent of Delphine’s hair, “You’re not so bad looking yourself.” Delphine’s hands ran up Cosima’s bare sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake, she could feel the rumble of a low chuckle move through the shorter girl’s chest. “But you are wearing entirely too many clothes,” her voice dropped to a whisper, caressing the shell of the blonde’s ear, “I want to feel you.”

One arm moved around Cosima’s waist to hold their bodies flush together while Delphine stood and spun, dropping Cosima down to the mattress with a bounce. Cosima giggled and sat up on her elbows, biting her lip and letting her fingertips brush against her own nipples while she watched her girlfriend under hooded eyes. Delphine undressed fast and without theatrics, desperate, and as quick to bare skin as she could.

When Cosima shifted her weight to one elbow and reached out for her, Delphine bowed low, kissing both the girl’s knees where they bent over the bed. “Je t’aime,” she whispered into the inside of Cosima’s thigh as the girl lifted a heel to the edge of the mattress. Delphine slid between her legs, her palms moving up flexing thighs.

Cosima’s hands found Delphine’s shoulders as soon as they were in reach. “Come here,” she tried tugging the blonde up but Delphine was too easily distracted by the jut of her hip. Lips parted to let out a gasp when pearly white teeth scraped against soft flesh, “Delphine, please.”

“Yes?” The word was muffled by Cosima’s neatly trimmed pubic hair.

She squirmed, “As much as I like where this is going…”

Delphine smiled into the crease of the tattooed teen’s thigh and slid slowly up the bed, keeping her body low enough for her breasts to brush up Cosima’s torso as she moved. “Mon amour,” she purred, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses as she went, “I cannot get enough of you.”

Cosima cupped Delphine’s face in her hands and drew their lips together, “You can have as much of me as you want.”

“Mmm,” hazel eyes shut blissfully and the French girl kissed her again, “then I want all of you,” she muttered, pulling Cosima’s top lip between her own and sucking gently.

Cosima hooked her legs around Delphine’s hips and rested her feet against the backs of long thighs, pressing up into Delphine’s stomach, “You have all of me, always.” She squeezed the back of the blonde’s neck with one hand, the other sliding down Delphine’s back, the heel of her palm pressing into muscle.

Delphine moaned into her open mouth and lifted herself further until she felt Cosima’s wetness paint the skin between her hips. She glanced down between them to watch Cosima grind up into her, but when the shorter girl’s breathing hitched her gaze lifted to meet warm amber. They kept eyes locked, mouths open and panting, until Delphine could no longer contain her need to slip a hand between them, shifting her body slightly.

“Fuck,” Cosima’s head dropped back and a long, low moan stretched through the air the moment slim fingers glided into her. Delphine was quick in seizing the opportunity to suck on the exposed skin of her girlfriend’s throat, appreciatively humming against the vibration of Cosima’s moan, which was immediately followed by a gulp of air and bobbing swallow.

She could feel Cosima’s jaw drop open, her chin contacting the top of Delphine’s head, could feel the trembling of her lungs and hear the shaking intake. She strummed her thumb against Cosima’s clit and stroked the smooth muscles of her inner walls. “Tell me what you want.” Her voice was thick and low, dripping with desire.

“Faster.” Cosima pressed her lips tight together and pulled them into her mouth when Delphine quickly obliged. “Yesss,” she hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, meeting each thrust with eager hips.

Delphine shifted her weight onto her supporting arm which was beginning to shake with the strain of holding her up and pulled her knees under her, breaking free from the cage of Cosima’s legs. “Here,” she withdrew her fingers from Cosima’s desperate heat and crawled over a thigh to lay against her side. Cosima tucked an arm under Delphine’s neck and wrapped it around her head, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. The blonde smiled and nudged at Cosima’s leg, urging her to cross it over the other until she was resting on one hip.

The shorter teen released her girlfriend and twisted further, turning her back to Delphine and lifting her head to accommodate the blonde’s arm under her neck. Bending at the elbow, Delphine crossed her trapped arm over Cosima’s chest and pulled their bodies flush together. Her free hand trailed down Cosima’s side, over hills and valleys, to push the brunette’s knee forward before sliding back up her thigh and moving down to enter her from behind.

Cosima’s mouth dropped open soundlessly and she turned her face into a pillow. Delphine molded her body around the smaller girl’s, dragging her lips across a tan shoulder and pressing her hips forward when Cosima’s ass ground back into her.

The brunette leaned back into Delphine, pulling away from the pillows to moan, “You’re so deep.”

“I’m sorry,” Delphine eased the depth of her fingers, ignoring the tattooed girl’s protesting groan. “You are going to hurt later,” she muttered into Cosima’s ear before kissing it, trying to reason with her desperate girlfriend.

“I sincerely could not give a shit. Please.”

“Cosima,” Delphine warned, “remember last time? You begged for it and I gave in and—“

Cosima grunted, pinning Delphine’s hand against her thigh and impaling herself fully, “Delphine. I’m not begging, I’m telling— Fuck. Me.”

Hazel eyes fluttered closed, Delphine let out a quiet moan, her resolve weakening, “Are you sure?”

The brunette was already thrusting back against long, slim fingers, “I’ve never been more sure. Please, I need you.”

Delphine kissed across Cosima’s shoulder blade, scooting down the bed until she was pressing her lips to the middle of Cosima’s back. She slid her free arm between Cosima’s side and the sheets, wrapping it around the teen’s waist. The position gave her the leverage to roughen her movements. “Are you alright, ma chérie?” Her voice shook with the force of her thrusts.

“Fuck yes.” Cosima dropped an arm behind her and gripped Delphine’s hair in a tight fist. A keening moan ripped from her throat, a leg stretched back to hook around Delphine’s side. “I love you,” she panted, “you feel so good.”

Delphine buried her smile in Cosima’s back and nipped at the shuddering muscles along the column of the girl’s spine. She eased her hold on Cosima’s waist, sliding her hand over a flexing stomach and through the wiry patch of hair to press her middle finger between Cosima’s folds, meeting her pounding fingers and gathering wetness before moving back to circle Cosima’s clit in quick, practiced motions. It didn’t take long for Cosima to come, crying Delphine’s name with her release. The blonde let her ride out her orgasm before gentling her thrusts to slow easy pushes, softly stroking Cosima’s clit and peppering kisses over any skin she could reach, murmuring in French.

Cosima’s explosive shout tapered to a long, exhausted moan. “Get up here,” she hummed, weak and spent.

Delphine slid free of Cosima’s still pulsing sex, untangled her arms, and crawled over her. She eased the brunette onto her back and slipped a leg between Cosima’s. Cosima rocked her hips up against it, thankful for the tingle of easy friction in the aftershocks. They met in a slow kiss, gliding their tongues together and nuzzling against each other.

Cosima giggled when they parted, panting, “Your turn?”

Delphine laughed loudly and Cosima’s eyes dropped to the blonde’s dazzling smile, “Why don’t you catch your breath first, mon amour?”

“Mmm, yeah, maybe a good idea.” Cosima wrapped her arms around Delphine and turned them on their sides, her fingers trailing happily over Delphine’s soft back, stopping occasionally to circle raised moles. “You’re so amazing.”

“Yes, well, I try.” Delphine chuckled and painted Cosima’s neck and chest with supplicating, open-mouthed kisses.

Cosima felt a twinge between her hips, the growing pressure of an angry cramp, and the anxiety that came with the pain. She tried to hide the tremor in her voice, “Hey, turn over. I have a mighty need for spoonage.”

A giggle slipped past Delphine’s lips, “Spoonage?” The word came out stunted by her accent.

“Yeah, spoonage, got a problem?” Cosima smiled through the building ache. “Come on,” she shoved Delphine gently until the tall girl obliged and flipped onto her other side. Cosima groaned quietly, fitting herself around the curve of her girlfriend’s body.

Delphine gripped Cosima’s forearm just below the elbow, where it was draped over her waist, “How are you feeling?”

“Great,” Cosima lied, trying to distract Delphine with kisses along the back of her shoulders.

The blonde purred and rolled her shoulders back, stretching her neck forward, “No pain?”

“None.” Golden eyes squeezed shut tight and she grit her teeth against another tense cramp. She let out a trembling breath when it passed, the tail end of it catching wetly in her windpipe. She cleared her throat, quietly at first but louder the second time, and by the third attempt she’d devolved into a fit of coughs.

Delphine turned her head towards the sound, glancing over her shoulder. “Cosima?”

It came up like phlegm, vengeful and shaking. She pressed her forehead to Delphine’s back and tightened her arm around the blonde’s waist. “I—“ every attempt to speak was met with more gargling wetness and unsuccessful gulps of air until she finally coughed hard enough.

Delphine felt the hot spray of it— the furious red speckling her milk-white skin like drops of paint splattered against a canvas. “Cosima!” She spun quickly, only to find Cosima struggling for rattling breaths, her lips covered in red-tinted black ooze. Her eyes went wide and Cosima pulled her arms in tight around her stomach, curling in on the pain.

“Cosima!”

“Cosima!”


	20. Sirop Pour La Toux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: "Am I absolutely messed up for wanting to know what happened between Cosima and Delphine leading up to this? Cause last thing we see is Cosima having a break down at school, Delphine full on sprinting to her, and then they're gone. It'd be nice to see how they handled getting her to the hospital. How their families were involved."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: Lots of blood, lots of talk about blood, lots of visuals and tactile sensations involving blood. Guys... there is some blood in this one. Ya heard?
> 
> Spoilers ahead for chapter 20 of CC. Just sayin'.

‘It happened again on the elevator. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I need you.’

My grip tightened around my phone until it hurt. She couldn’t breathe, and in that moment neither could I. Like our lungs were connected somehow. I could taste metal in my own mouth. The pen grew suddenly heavy in my hand, suddenly hot. I dropped it and stood. I’m certain I tried to say something to Tony, but I don’t think I could get the words out past her heavy, iron blood weighing down my tongue.

The elevators. I don’t recall leaving the cafeteria, nor do I remember the faces I passed, how I made it to the tiny enclave, but I remember her. I remember the way her terrified eyes looked beyond Beth’s face, the slight twitch they made to the left of Beth’s head to meet mine. “Cosima.” Finally I found my voice. And then her cheeks were hot beneath my palms. Her make-up was war paint after the bloody battle she’d lost to her own failing body. Her lips were stained with the aftermath.

“Get help,” I turned to Beth but she was gone.

“No.”

Mouth hanging open, I looked back to Cosima. “What?”

She shook her head and took a slow, rattling, but deep breath, “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Her eyes flicked over my face and she continued, “I’m sorry I scared you. I freaked out. I just needed to sit down and catch my breath.”

“You are not okay, Cosima,” I inhaled and exhaled when she did, “this is your fourth attack in as many days.”

“I’m fine,” she pushed a palm against the wall behind her, the other on her bent knee, “don’t be a bi—“

“Do not!” My hand jerked up to cover my mouth, fingers trembling against my lips. I hadn’t meant to shout. We took another breath in tandem and this time I whispered, “Don’t say it.”

She smiled. It wasn’t her usual smile— her lips were quivering, not strong and sure. “Come on, I said I was sorry.” She was trying to coax a response, draw out a smile, I recognized her seductive tone. I was about to snip at her for taking things so lightly but I didn’t have too— her body did it for her. “Kiss me.” As soon as the words left her lips her chest seized. Her impish grin faltered. Her jaw was quaking and both hands moved over her heart, fingers clenching in the fabric of her shirt.

“Cosima. Cosima.” The world faded again as the fear set in, the adrenaline. And I gripped her shoulders, “Cosima!”

She was coughing, or she was trying to, deep and hard… like she was trying to pull the stickiness up from the bottoms of her lungs, the places she couldn’t reach without a full breath— but she couldn’t take one. So she was gasping, choking, and I was gasping with her. She reached for me. I thought she wanted me to hold her but she was scrabbling for my phone with clawed fingers. “Y—your—“

It hit like a ton of bricks— “Maman.”

She nodded and I rushed to her contact with fumbling taps. She answered with a light and happy voice after only few rings, but I cut her off, begging, “S’il te plaît aidez moi! Aidez-nous! S'il te plaît, je ne sais pas quoi faire!”

“Mon bébé, calmes et que tu respires profondément. Tu fais quoi, chérie?” Take a deep breath? I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe at all.

“Les ascenseurs! Dépêche-toi, Maman.”

I hung up and dropped my phone. I heard it clatter to the tile— but more importantly I heard Cosima finally take in the air she needed. It was a large enough breath to fuel the cough that would bring relief. Her hands were covered with flecks of blood, but when her final cough came it brought a flood that spilled over her hands as if her mouth were a gaping wound. Her breathing steadied into long, deep pulls that made her chest rise and fall heavily. I hugged her as tightly as I could. The exertion had made her hot, so hot that the heat was radiating off of her. She held her hands awkwardly, wrists bent out at her sides but it wasn’t enough, I grabbed her arms and pulled her closer. She smiled through her panting and pressed her burning cheek to mine. She was damp with sweat. Her shirt stuck to her shoulders, her skin stuck to mine. “They are just clothes,” I muttered. She finally gripped my hips and the familiar pressure eased my anxiety. I felt the wetness seeping through to my skin, but I knew that I was always covered in her blood whether it was visible or not— it had stained me, become a part of my flesh.

“Qu'y a-t-il? Que s'est-il passé?” My mother’s voice usually comforted me with its calm vibrato and hushed tone, but she sounded just as frightened as I was when she slid into the room. With Cosima’s bloody chin draped over my shoulder she saw the mess immediately. She moved close and bent at the waist. We pulled apart and the hand that felt me for fevers rested gently over Cosima’s forehead. Not that we really parted, her knees were still between mine, streaks of red like fingerpaint decorated my arms down to where she gripped my forearms, I couldn’t let her go.

“I’m okay.” She said— and her voice was strong enough that I would have believed it if I hadn’t seen her violent shaking only a minute before.

She switched to English when she spoke to Cosima and I hated it, “You do not look okay to me.”

She smiled again and it was confident this time. She wasn’t trembling anymore and her breathing was calm and even despite the barely audible wheeze that snuck out behind each exhale. “Seriously, I’m okay. We just had a little scare.”

My mother stood, one hand on her hip, the other pressed to her forehead, she sighed and hissed quietly towards the heavens, _“Tu es couvert de sang!”_ Cosima knew little French outside of impassioned expletives and whispered affections, but she pieced the sentence together well and wiped her face with the collar of her shirt.

We looked up at her then, both pleading— me for help, Cosima for something else entirely… forgiveness, maybe, or to rewind time to before we’d called my mother. “I just need to get cleaned up…”

“Non!” Again, I hadn’t meant to shout. This time it was her mouth I covered— palm tight over her lips, thumb hooked under her chin. “You are going to the hospital.”

Her hands were tacky when they came up off my arms to pull my hand away, “Delphine, I’m totally fine—“

My mother was already shaking her head, “No, Cosima, I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No no no, don’t.” She held her hands out in a beseeching motion. Her words would have been much more convincing if her lifelines weren’t covered in brown rust. Thumb hovering over her phone, Maman paused and looked down at Cosima. “I’ll go! Just…I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.”

“It is a big deal!” Both of her hands closed over my mouth.

“Stop. It’s my body— it’s my decision.” She was stern and her eyes had that fire that I knew preceded an outburst so I let my body go slack under her. She slowly uncupped her hands as if ready to snap them back into place if I dared to speak again, her gaze fell to my lips. “Okay?” She asked, softening, “I’ll go, but we can take my car. Mount Sinai isn’t that far.”

“You are not driving anywhere.” Maman was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Finally she sighed and nodded stiffly, “I’ll take you.”

We both looked up at her again. Cosima shifted a bit before nodding, “Alright.”

I was up in a flash. I reached for her but she shook her head slightly and grunted, using the leverage of her hands against the wall to stand on her own. She glanced behind her once she was upright but the wall was clean. She looked down at the drying stains and wiped them on her jeans.

My mother dipped down and scooped our phones off the floor, handing them back to us. “Call your mother, Cosima,” she said, “now.” Her voice held no room for argument.


	21. Helena Does a GOOD Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't have the request in my inbox anymore so I can't copy-paste, but Helenatheferalangel wanted a one-shot of Helena at the hospital!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Helena is a two-step process. The first was in first person but I realize that when I think of Helena's thought process I just write like a cheap knockoff of Sharkodactyl so I had to write a second version. Here it is!
> 
> Spoilers for chapter 20 and 21!

Helena likes chocolate chips and she likes Felix and Cosima and she likes blueberry muffins. She thinks that maybe she likes blueberry muffins more than she likes Felix, but she knows for certain that Sarah loves Felix. And she loves Sarah. And Sarah always tells her to share.

“Felix, can I have a blueberry muffin?” She uses her sweetest voice. The voice that will make Mrs. S give her two biscuits instead of one biscuit with her tea, or seconds or thirds at dinner.

He is less nice than Mrs. S and he looks over at her with glaring eyes, “No, these are mine. You ate, like, seven bowls of cereal.”

Felix has two blueberry muffins and Helena only wants one. It seems fair to her, it seems like sharing. She grabs him and he’s small in her arms, like a tiny bird. Hollow baby bones she could snap with coiled muscles, muscles that are shaking with the strain of not just killing him right there. Helena always feels like she’s on the edge, like she’s so close to just….

“Share, feLIX SHARE!”

And Tony is too busy thinking to stop her. That’s good, she thinks, because she only wants one of the blueberry muffins.

She is, maybe, a bit too rough with Felix’s baby bird bones, because he screams. “Oi, ‘Lena!”

“Hey, Meathead!” Sarah says. Helena only wants one blueberry muffin. She doesn’t want to break Felix. She does, but Sarah doesn’t want her to. So she doesn’t. She hates being called Meathead and she hates hospitals and she hates Beth. She doesn’t, but Sarah does. So she does.

She knows they’re at the hospital because something is wrong. All of them, even Beth is there. No one is willing to explain the problem to her, and that’s frustrating. No one will talk about why Tony is so sad or why Delphine ran away. Sarah yelled at Delphine and made her cry, Helena knows.

Cosima is sick, Helena knows this too. Cosima has been sick for a long time. Helena knows because when she coughs she always looks at her hand like she’s reading tea leaves. Helena knows because she always smells like blood. Her mouth always twitches. She holds her breath when he chest makes a shaking noise like an empty chip bag crumpling in Helena’s fist.

Sarah is sad, she’s biting her lips and everyone is acting like Cosima is just now sick and Helena is very confused. Cosima did not get sick today, Helena knows. It smells like bleach here.

Felix pinches crumbles of Helena’s blueberry muffin between two fingers and tips his head back, opens his mouth WIDE and drops Helena’s blueberry muffin crumbles in. “It’s all so sudden,” he chirps.

“She’s been hiding it.” Yes, badly. Everyone knows Cosima is sick, Helena thinks, right?

Helena rubs her nose to hide the smell of her stolen blueberry muffins. Her fingers smell like Sarah’s fingers. Helena knows that Sarah doesn’t like surprises, so she tells her, “Cosima is sick.” They look surprised. Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe they didn’t know that Cosima is sick, that she smells like blood. Helena starts to question her own thoughts. It seemed so obvious to her. “Yes?”

Sarah’s fingers dig so deep and so hard into the muscle of Helena’s neckshoulder and it feels like love. Helena always knows what love feels like. The nuns told her that pain is love. They told her over and over so she would never forget. And she never has. She leans into it and it hurts, it feels like Sarah is pulling the muscle from her bones, like her fingers are sliding underneath it, like it’s giving under her. It feels like love. “Is she going to die?”

But Sarah won’t look at her. Helena knows that Sarah is hiding. Helena knows that Sarah knows that Helena knows Sarah like she knows her own insides. Sarah doesn’t want Helena to see her insides, so she hides. “No.”

It doesn’t hurt when Sarah hides. Sarah says it hurts her when Helena hides, and that makes Helena sad because Sarah’s tears don’t look like they feel like love. Like Sarah doesn’t like them, like they don’t feel good. It doesn’t hurt her when Sarah hides, but it makes her sad. Sadness is a feeling she doesn’t like. Sarah doesn’t want to tell her that Cosima will die. That Cosima is already dead.

“She’s going to be fine.” “She’s going to be fine.” “She’s going to be fine.”

Bleach and rubber, Cosima’s doctor smells like. And he’s gone fast, but not fast enough for Helena. She hates doctors. She has hated them since the morning Mrs. S brought her to the smelly hospital and told her to take off her shirt in front of the doctor. He had a face like the man who made her pay for her trip to Canada with not-money, with the only not-money she had, because she didn’t have money. No paper thin money so she paid with paper thin skin. And when the doctor touched her with his cold rubber fingers she shook and Mrs. S grabbed her and pulled her from him and held her in tight warm arms and told him to leave. And held Helena’s face in her hot hands and asked if she wanted a different doctor. But the lady doctor had rubber hands too and she smelled like blood and bleach and her sticky rubber fingers caught in Helena’s hair and pulled it the way the nun’s brushes did.

They didn’t know that Cosima was sick, maybe they couldn’t smell the blood on her. Maybe they can’t smell the doctor on him— “He is Cosima’s doctor.”

Doctors make scrunched faces when they look at her body. That first time and every time since. They run their eyes and hands over her back like they pity her. They don’t see God’s love when they look at her. She hates them. But she knows that doctors have answers. They say things when they are alone with you and your Mrs. S. Did they not know that doctors say things? They answer questions. They know things when you are sick and she is certain that no one else does. Sarah won’t let her talk to the doctor and Helena is confused because they all have so many questions and she knows the doctor will answer them. He knows Cosima is sick, but Sarah doesn’t want to know, maybe.

Because Cosima is already dead and Sarah is sad, Helena thinks. Maybe. Yes.

Beth moves fast, like Helena has seen her do when she’s chasing balls and playing football with Alison. Helena is fast too. Her muscles feel like the springs of her bed, like they’re waiting to snap under the tension. She could kill Beth. She could snap her like a spring. Helena thinks that Beth’s bones aren’t like baby bird bones, they are like horse bones. They are strong, but Helena knows that she is stronger. Beth’s knees lock when Helena pulls her back and it’s just a few seconds before she melts in Helena’s arms.

Tony and Felix and Alison are yelling at her, but Sarah is smiling. Her eyes say “Good Helena” and Helena knows she’s doing the right thing. Sarah is safe and Beth is sleeping. Beth’s weight is limp against Helena’s chest and her heavy horse-bone skull drops back against Helena’s shoulder. Sarah touches her arm where it’s wrapped around Beth’s neck and Helena loosens her grip. She holds Beth up by her waist. Alison is making choking noises like Beth just was and Helena thinks maybe she’s going to fall asleep too.

But Alison’s hands are rough when they shove against Helena’s wings and Helena whips around to snap her like a spring. Her muscles ache and beg to BREAK SOMETHING. And Beth is moving again, slow, like Helena waking up on a morning she doesn’t have to go to school. Beth has her feet up under her again and Alison is pushing harder and harder so Helena throws Beth away— she needs both hands to break Alison.

Tony and Felix close in on her fast and Helena thinks she might break them too, but Sarah is talking low, telling her to leave them, to leave Alison.

There is quiet for a moment and Helena is catching her breath and so is Beth. Beth leaves and Helena wishes Alison would leave with her, but she doesn’t. The boys let her go when Sarah tangles her fingers in the hair at the back of Helena’s neck and makes the angry tension in Helena’s muscles fade away. Sarah tightens her fingers until it hurts like love and jerks Helena close until Helena’s nose is pressing against Sarah’s hot neck. Her lips are hard and rough against the side of Helena’s head and her arms are so tight around her. Sarah loves her. Helena did a good thing.


	22. Steadier Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: “A one shot with Cosima and Delphine, obvs! ;)” “I was actually thinking less sexy and more just comforting. Cause I loved that little snippet of Delphine just gettin all compassionate with a crying Cosima. Just warmed my lil ol heart :)”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General CC spoilers apply. Here, have 1800 words of Cophine fluff. Y'all have earned it for being lil' troopers through the angsty minefield that is Cable Car.

Delphine threw the blanket over her legs when the latch of the door sounded. Cosima turned into her, covering her face with shaking hands and nesting her body into any empty spaces she could find between the blonde’s curves. She couldn’t understand the gentle French that rolled into her ear as Delphine pulled her hands free and replaced them with fluttering kisses, but the sound was comforting enough to coax out the welling tears burning behind her eyes. Delphine was still purring, still kissing and cooing and brushing her thumbs over any skin she could find.

 _Cœur_. Heart. Delphine was hers.

 _Respirer_. To breathe. She couldn’t— not without sticky fluid crackling along in time.

She felt like she’d woken in the middle of her sleep cycle, her brain was working at half capacity. She breathed deeply through her cracked and scabbing nostrils, filling her lungs with cold air from the cannula. She lifted a hand to rub at her nose, groaning, the tingling itch drove her crazy, but scratching just hurt. The insistently pressing lips covering her face forced her attention. Delphine’s breath smelled like bitter coffee and stale cigarettes, familiar and soothing. “Thank you for making them leave,” it was weak, gritty, and filled with a pathetic anger, petulant and bitter.

Delphine pulled back enough to make eye contact, but Cosima’s honey-brown orbs were absorbed in literally anything else she could find— a poster across the room, the fuzz of the woven blanket draped over their bodies, the ticking clock on the wall. “Cosima, stop acting so interested in things with such intricate details, you are blind as a bat.” Delphine smiled softly and waved her hand in front of Cosima’s face.

“Am not.” Cosima reached for her glasses on the night stand, missing by several inches, “Okay, maybe—“

“Here.” Delphine stretched over her and scooped the frames off the table, unfolding them and settling them over Cosima’s twitching nose.

She came into focus, smiling and soft-eyed. “Thanks,” Cosima whispered.

“Of course.” Delphine’s fingertips traced over the stubborn baby hairs that refused to loc with the rest of Cosima’s twists. “Do you want me to ask everyone to go home?”

Cosima was quiet for some time, the ticking of the second hand was loud and filled the space with an uncomfortable urgency— a sudden awareness of the passage of time.

“What is the matter?” The blonde asked, as if Cosima wasn’t struggling around inhales and wrestling back coughs on the exhales.

Cosima shook her head, “I didn’t want them to see—“

“To see what, Cosima? You are sick.” She slid long fingers down a warm cheek, “This is how things are now. And I think having support around you is better than not. Don’t you agree?”

The brunette turned her head away until the deafening _tick-tick-tick_ of the clock spurred her into action, “If they’re sitting around here or if they’re sitting around at home, whatever, it isn’t going to make me any better.”

Delphine nodded, pulling Cosima’s face towards her by the chin, “You are not the only one who could benefit from the company. They are worried. Being here…they feel like they can do some good. Like they can help you.”

“They can’t help me.”

“Non, but maybe it will be easier for _all_ —“ she squeezed Cosima’s chin between the side of her finger and thumb for emphasis, “—of us to pretend they can.”

Cosima sighed and dropped her head to Delphine’s shoulder, “Pretending won’t heal me.”

Delphine knocked their skulls together, pressed her cheek against Cosima’s, “I will try anything.”

Hot tears made the scoop of Delphine’s neck slick and muggy, Cosima tasted the salt against her parted lips as they grazed the skin there. The blonde tightened her arms around Cosima’s shoulders, fingers digging painfully into her bones. “Can I borrow your chapstick?”

Delphine chuckled and pulled back, “Chapstick? You’re thinking about chapstick?”

Cosima pouted, displaying her peeling lip, “I’m all chapped.”

“Mmm, yes you are.” Delphine carried chapstick religiously, it was the one thing should could always be counted on having. She was constantly biting, licking, worrying her lips until they were made raw by scraping teeth and the Canadian breeze. She pecked Cosima’s cheek and slid out of the bed, wandering to the chair her purse was tucked under. “Cherry or mint? Or lip gloss? I have lip gloss too.” She didn’t look up from her bag, just dug around inside— up to her elbow in the cluttered mess.

Cosima smiled and watched her. She was overwhelmed by the tranquil domesticity of the moment, the way Delphine’s hair covered her face, the way gentle calm of her voice.

“Cosima?”

She snapped back to reality, to the sterile hospital room and the too-white lights. “Huh?”

Delphine smiled wide and held up a handful of lip balms, “What do you want?”

“You.”

The blonde chuckled and chose for her, tossing the rest back into her purse and dropping it into the chair without ceremony. “You’re getting lip gloss then.”

Cosima groaned and threw her head back against the pillow. “I hate lip gloss.”

“I know, it’s sticky and it doesn’t soak in and you hate it.” Delphine had her knees on the foot of the bed and was crawling slowly over Cosima’s body.

She pouted but returned Delphine’s gentle kiss anyway, “Then why?”

“I like the way it looks on you,” Delphine tucked long legs against the outsides of Cosima’s thighs, twisting the cap off the tube and pulling the applicator stick out.

“Mint. I choose mint.”

She shook her head, grinning, “Non, too late, mon amour.” She gripped Cosima’s chin and the tube pressed into the sick teen’s jaw painfully. Cosima stilled and let Delphine work, the tip of her pinkie steadying her hand as she painted Cosima’s lips. It only took a minute and when she was done she rewarded Cosima with the kind of kiss that ruined perfectly applied lip gloss.

She could have complained, but there was never anything to complain about with Delphine straddling her hips, drawing her face up between soft-skinned palms, teasing her lips and tongue. She would miss this, Delphine’s steady weight and the way she would always slowly roll her hips. She would miss this when she died.

“You are crying again,” it hurt— how pained Delphine sounded, how scared, when she pulled away and wiped at Cosima’s eyes.

Cosima shook her head, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Delphine pushed her down and dropped onto her side, kicking her legs until she’d gotten the blanket over them. She slid her hand under Cosima’s thin hospital gown, tracing patterns around the dreaded girl’s navel. Cosima shrugged and roughed at her itchy nose again. “Hold still.” Delphine pulled her hands free and, with careful fingers, opened Cosima’s nose ring.

“Oww.”

“Shhh,” she turned it until she could pull it free, “it is just making things more uncomfortable.” She leaned over Cosima’s body to set the metal ring on the bedside table, picking up the hand mirror that was laying there. “Look, look at how much color you have in your cheeks,” Delphine held it up for her to see, “you look well.”

Cosima’s brow furrowed, her cheeks were pink, it was true, but without her nose ring and expertly drawn on makeup she didn’t look anything like herself. “Can you bring me my eyeliner?”

“Mmm, oui. It’s in your bag?”

Cosima nodded and Delphine handed her the mirror before bouncing off the bed to find it. “Thanks,” she said, when the blonde zipped up the pocket of her backpack and crossed the distance to the bed once more.

Delphine smiled the same sweet smile that Cosima had fallen for and climbed back up onto her lap. “Do you want me to do it?” She didn’t wait for an answer, unscrewing the lid of the gel liner and dipping the tip of a fine brush into it.

“I can do it.”

Delphine clicked her tongue against her teeth, “I know you can do it, but I want to,” she nudged Cosima’s hands away, “let me?”

The brunette sighed and nodded, dropping her hands to grip Delphine’s thighs, thumbs absently tracing the inseam of her jeans. Amber eyes locked on Delphine’s concentrated features while her practiced fingers delicately applied the dark blue makeup. “I’m not an invalid yet.”

Delphine’s hand stopped in mid-wing, jaw dropping open and cocking to one side, tongue coming out to glide across her bottom lip. Her eyelids slid shut tightly for a beat before opening again. She shook her head briefly and instead of speaking she snapped her mouth shut, took a deep breath in through her nose, and continued the precise motion.

Cosima wanted to regret her words, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for the effect they’d had on her girlfriend. Someday she would need Delphine to do this, to paint on her makeup every day, but today wasn’t that day.

When her right eye was finished, Delphine thrust the brush out for Cosima to take, “Here. If you want to do it yourself, then do it.”

The sick girl sighed and twisted the brush from Delphine’s fingers, “Okay.”

“This isn’t about you being sick,” Delphine muttered, holding the mirror while Cosima dragged the brush along her upper lid. Cosima grunted and Delphine continued, “You used to let me put your makeup on all the time.” She pulled the tip of the brush away from her eye, keeping her hand up and ready, taking in Delphine’s shaky frown. “This illness is difficult, but wanting to be close to you isn’t. This is something we used to do together. Just because you _can_ do it doesn’t mean you have to shut me down for wanting to share it with you.”

Cosima’s eyes darted back to their reflection in the mirror and she continued painting her lash line, “You sound like Alison.”

“You should not be eavesdropping on Beth and Alison’s private conversations.”

Cosima scoffed without looking up, “That sounded like Alison too.” When Delphine didn’t respond by the time she was finished with her top lid she made eye contact— tears were sliding down Delphine’s cheeks. Cosima placed the liner on the bed and sat up straighter, cupping her crying girlfriend’s jaw with both hands. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

Delphine sniffed and snubbed her nose with her knuckles, “Non, it’s okay. I am here for you— to apply your eyeliner or to just sit with you. Whatever you need, you know I will be here.”

Cosima sighed and shut her half-finished eyes, leaning up to brush her lips against Delphine’s, “I need you. I need your eyes and your smile and your kiss and your much, much steadier hands.” She held the brush out, “Finish for me?”

“Oui,” Delphine’s smile took up her whole face and she dropped the mirror onto Cosima’s stomach, “toujours, ma chérie.” She snatched the brush from Cosima’s hand and pushed the smaller girl back down with a giggle. Delphine leaned forward over her, ankles resting on Cosima’s shins, one fist pressing into the stiff mattress next to inky-black dreadlocks, and gently glided the fine tip over Cosima’s bottom lid.


End file.
